The Boy Who Lived
by George Weasley's Girlfriend
Summary: Harry Potter nears the end of the summer after his fourth year and discovers a shocking secret involving someone he thought he knew. As the wizarding world holds its breath for You-Know-Who's next move, jealousies are ignited. New people are met... and
1. The Boy Who Lived (1): The Countdown

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Author: George Weasley's Girlfriend

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Title: The Boy Who Lived

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Rating: PG-13

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Disclaimers: The characters and settings in J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series belong to her and not me. All other characters and creatures belong to me. Don't use them without my permission. Otherwise, I might get a little wand-happy and being HP-obsessed, I know some pretty good spells.

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Author's Notes: See end of chapter.

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The Boy Who Lived (1)

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"… Harry Potter wasn't_ a normal boy. As a matter of fact, he was as not normal as it is possible to be." -_Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

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Part One: The Countdown

Five more days. The fifteen-year-old sighed as he remembered how much longer he had to stay at home until the school term started. It was five long days before he would return to Diagon Alley, a small strip of stores in London, to get his school things. And then he had yet another two days before he would board a train and start off for school. Whereas most kids would be morose near the end of the summer holidays, this particular boy couldn't wait. Then again there was something rather peculiar about the boy who sat at the edge of his bed, sighing as he read the calendar. Though by looking at him, you couldn't tell that Harry James Potter was unlike most other boys, there was one thing that made him very different.

He was a wizard.

He was a wizard like any other who concocted potions, cast spells, and learned how to turn a match stick into a needle. Movies and television often depicted wizards and witches as sorcerer-type beings who were always evil; but then, Muggles (non-wizarding folk) didn't see what was right under their nose.

The Muggles couldn't raise their wand and hail the Knight Bus, which cost a mere fifteen Sickles for a ride anywhere and a mug of hot chocolate. They couldn't go into the Leaky Cauldron, tap on a brick and open a gateway into Diagon Alley, where witches and wizards could buy anything from a Firebolt broom to use when playing the most popular wizard sport, Quidditch, to parchment and quills for homework assignments. They had no idea how to spend Galleons or Sickles or Knuts.

And worst of all, Harry Potter lived with the worst Muggles the wizarding world could have ever laid their eyes on. Petunia and Vernon Dursley brought up Harry alongside their own son, Harry's cousin Dudley. Until he was eleven, Harry lived in a small cupboard under the stairs and had since been moved into Dudley's second bedroom, which was filled with broken toys. Since entering Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Dursleys rarely spoke to him and usually pretended any area he occupied was indeed empty space. Even before his placement in the magical school, they criticized him severely for things he couldn't possibly help, like his untidy black hair or thinness,

Sighing, Harry stood from his bed and picked up a half-cracked mirror from one of Dudley's toys. He looked into it and saw reflected what he always saw: bright green eyes framed with round glasses and a head topped with dark hair sticking in all directions. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to picture his father doing the same, as everyone in the wizarding world - his world - told him how much he looked like his father. That is, except for his striking green eyes, which undoubtedly came from his mother.

Harry's mother and father, James and Lily Potter, had died when Harry was just fifteen months old. Lord Voldemort, a very powerful Dark wizard, had burst into their small cottage in Godric's Hollow and murdered Harry's parents. However, when Voldemort turned his wand on young Harry, the curse rebounded upon him, weakening him greatly and causing him to go into hiding for ten years. The only thing Harry had to show for all of it was a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

Harry ran his fingers over the thin scar lightly and set the mirror down. He felt the familiar pang of missing his parents. For years Harry had been told by his aunt and uncle that they'd died in the car accident that had given him his scar, but now, he knew better. He knew that his father had died trying to protect his mother and his mother had died standing up desperately against Lord Voldemort, begging for him to take her life instead of her only son's. They would have been horrified at the way Harry had been treated in the Muggle world. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he went back to his bed and slid under the covers of his bed.

Five days.

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* * *

"Get up! Up now!" A nasal voice called through the door to Harry's bedroom. "Are you up yet, boy?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled as he pulled the pillow from atop his head. He heard footsteps stomp away from the door and go down the stairs. Only then did he yawn and swing his legs over the side of the bed, stretching. Scratching one ear, he looked over at Hedwig, his owl, who was fast asleep in her cage. The snowy owl, which was responsible for delivering letters to other wizards, had her face buried under her wing. Harry walked over to the cage and moved to close the small door when Hedwig pulled her head out and blinked sleepily up at him.

"Sorry, Hedwig," Harry said as he closed the door. "But if Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia come up here and see that your cage is open, they'll probably never let me let you out at night." Hedwig hopped closer on her small perch and nipped his finger affectionately. Harry smiled as she buried her face in her wing again and he closed the small door. 

After changing into his Muggle clothes (he didn't dare parade around Four Privet Drive in his school robes), he left his room and descended into the kitchen.

Dudley was sitting on one side of the table, (not that anyone could have fit next to him, mind you) his pudgy hand constantly lifting up spoonfuls of oatmeal into his mouth. If there was one physical activity that Dudley engaged in, it was eating. And as he'd finally lost enough weight to fit into the outfit for his own school, Smeltings, he'd gotten a basket of sweets as congratulations from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Uncle Vernon was sitting on the opposite side of the table, his usually red face with a large handlebar mustache hiding behind a newspaper. Aunt Petunia, bony with large horse-like teeth and a pinched expression, was busying herself at the stove by making Dudley an entire package of bacon. None of them acknowledged Harry's presence.

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It's just as well, he thought as he sat at the table, finding himself surprisingly not hungry. He stood up and cleared his throat. Uncle Vernon peered at him over the edge of his newspaper.

"I'm going out for a walk," Harry announced. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon both looked sharply at him. Aunt Petunia shot a quick look at her husband and then back to her cooking.

"You're staying inside," Uncle Vernon said shortly, looking back down at his newspaper.

"Why can't I leave the house?" Harry asked furiously. They wanted to keep his caged up like some sort of animal, away from the prying eyes of the neighbors. To the outside world, Harry hardly existed and the Dursley preferred it that way, wanting no one to know that they housed such an strange child.

"We don't want to show the world your abnormality," Uncle Vernon said. Dudley actually stopped eating and beamed, thoroughly enjoying Harry's aggravation. "It's bad enough we have to feed and clothe your ungrateful self," he sneered, looking back down at his newspaper. Aunt Petunia completely ignored the entire conversation and remained standing at the stove, cooking breakfast.

"You can't keep me cooped up like a prisoner!" Harry protested, feeling the heat of anger rise within him. He forced himself to take a deep breath. The last time he'd gotten this furious around Muggles, it had been his Aunt Marge, who was insulting his parents. She's swollen up like a big ruddy balloon and floated up to the ceiling. "I'm going outside." Long since had the days passed that he took orders from the Dursleys. Living and learning at Hogwarts had not only taught him magic, but independence. He turned and started down the hallway. What was the worst they could do?

"Stop right there, boy!" Aunt Petunia had finally broken away from her cooking to come to the kitchen doorway and shake a finger at him. "The neighbors will see you and what will they think? What, with the state of your hair…" She waved her hand furiously at him and Harry glared back defiantly.

Finally, he said, "You can't keep me inside forever. And sometime, I'll get outside and I'll go knocking on doors and tell them all about magic and wiz-"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Want to bet a Galleon on it?" Aunt Petunia flinched, perhaps thinking that there was some sort of spell that had been cast upon her. "Let me out now and I won't breathe a word." Aunt Petunia scowled hard at him, then whirled and returned to the kitchen.

Harry turned the doorknob and wrenched open the front door. He rubbed his eyes against the bright sunshine of the morning and started down the front path. He began to jog and sped up as he let out pent-up energy. Soon, he was running full speed down Privet Drive, around the corner on Robin Lane and finally began to slow at Magnolia Crescent. Breathing heavily, he resumed his slow pace and jammed his hands in his pockets.

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Four days left, he reminded himself. He saw that the sun had fully risen and his stomach was now rumbling with hunger. He kicked himself for not getting anything to eat before leaving the house. Harry wiped the sweat off his forehead and continued, intending to round the block and head home.

Soon, he neared Mrs. Figg's house. Mrs. Figg was the old woman who took care of Harry while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon took their precious son out for his birthday. She spent most of the time enthusiastically showing him pictures off all the cats she'd ever taken care of. Unlike pictures in the wizarding world, the cats stayed perfectly still, frozen in time. As he got nearer to her house, he saw that there was something going on through the window that seemed to accompany the muffled noises from the house. Although he knew it was an invasion of privacy, Harry couldn't help but be naturally curious. He quickly but stealthily made his way up the lawn and poked his head up just enough to see a startling sight.

Mrs. Figg was smiling, waving a magic wand through the air. Gold lines emitted from its tip and made a staff with notes. The piano, which Mrs. Figg had always said was out of tune and hopelessly beyond repair, was playing along happily to the notes. Her cats wound around her ankles, purring. Harry watched in utter disbelief. What happened to the wretched woman who made him look through hundreds of boring pictures and made cakes that tasted like rocks? He had never seen Mrs. Figg even smile before. Harry must have made a sudden movement or an audible noise because Mrs. Figg's sharp eyes focused on the window too fast for Harry to duck away without being seen. In surprise, she dropped her wand and the gold dissipated into the air. The music stopped abruptly and her cat sauntered out of the room. 

Eyes like saucers, Harry backed up a few steps from the window and began to turn, wanting to run home as fast as he could. He had just made it to the end of the driveway when he heard Mrs. Figg's voice behind him: "Harry, please stop." The voice sounded so pleading that Harry slowed to a stop and turned to face her. 

"Come inside," Mrs. Figg said, standing in the doorway. Gulping down nervousness in his throat, he started forward, wishing he had his wand in his hand instead of having back in his bedroom, with the rest of his school things. After what seemed like ages, he stepped into the small house, which, as always, smelled of cats. His green eyes danced across his surroundings: shabby furniture and slightly crooked pictures hanging from the walls; a small dining room set off to one side and a doorway into the tiny kitchen; a dark wooden door that led off her bedroom. Mrs. Figg led him to the couch, where they both sat.

"I suppose you know now," Mrs. Figg said slowly, cautiously.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a witch?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Dumbledore didn't want me to say anything," she replied, referring to the Hogwarts headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. "Not until you were ready to know."

"But… but… I was… all those years I could have just… you could have told me everything!"

"That's exactly why Dumbledore didn't want you to know I was a witch. I was stationed here to 'keep an eye on you,' so to speak."

"Stationed?" Harry murmured, disbelieving. "I don't understand…"

"Oh, dear, you've gotten so big," she said, much like a grandmother who hadn't seen her grandson in months. "Oh, I remember when you were just a few months old." Harry drew his breath in sharply, not knowing Mrs. Figg had known his parents, but she went on. "I remember it so well…Your father was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, holding you in his arms," she smiled dreamily. "He was going on about how you were going to be the best Seeker ever to play Quidditch and how he was going to teach you all the finer points of the game. I suppose it was something like the Americans and their baseball." 

Harry nodded numbly, feeling a surge of hate for Voldemort. He'd been cheated out of years of Quidditch tips from his father because a power-hungry wizard had been on a killing spree. He was gripping the fabric of the couch so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

"And, oh, how he was so crazy about your mother. You would think she was Venus herself with the way he talked about her." Harry's grip relaxed as his head filled with the image of his father and mother on their wedding day. Towards the end of his first year at Hogwarts, he received a photo album with a photo of his parents just after getting married. Once in a while, he'd open it and see his parents waving furiously up at him. He'd reach out and touch their faces, but they wouldn't respond; they'd only keep waving and smiling. He longed to hear their voices, anything but their screams… "_Take Harry… run, Lily, take Harry… No, James, I can't… Stand aside, girl… No, spare him… Mercy, please… Oh, James…"_ How many times had he woken up in a cold sweat, remembering nothing but a blinding green light and his parents final words?

"Harry…Harry, dear, are you all right?" Harry snapped back to reality to see that Mrs. Figg had gently laid a hand over his own, and that his fingers were still clutching the material of the couch tightly. "Harry…please don't dwell on what could have been. Your parents saved many lives that night, not only your own. This was part of the reason Dumbledore didn't want me to tell you."

"Why?" Harry whispered. "Why did they have to die?"

"Harry, you'll understand when you're older. It's not my place to tell you," Mrs. Figg said. "But you will know someday. That I promise you." She looked away from him. "You should be getting home," she said quietly, picking up her wand from where it had rested on the couch near Harry. Harry opened his mouth to argue; he had to know more about his parents. But Mrs. Figg waved her wand slowly in front of his face and touched his forehead lightly, murmuring a few words. Suddenly, Harry felt all the curiosity leave him and was remembering how important it was for him to get home.

"Thank you for letting me stay," he said dully, a glazed look over his eyes. "I need to be getting home."

"It's been my pleasure," Mrs. Figg said with a sad smile. She led Harry to the door and opened it for him. He looked back at her for a moment, nodded and then stepped outside. He started home, knowing it was something he needed to do right at that moment. He saw that it had become mid-morning, or rather felt it through the pangs of hunger coming from his missed breakfast catching up with him. Deciding to go home and nick some food from the refrigerator while his aunt and uncle weren't looking, Harry increased his pace slightly as he turned from Robin Lane back onto Privet Drive. Number Four loomed into view and Harry sighed, closing his eyes and wishing Hogwarts castle was in its place. Four days. 

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* * *

After making sure the Dursleys were well occupied with Dudley in the backyard, Harry sneaked into the kitchen to get an apple for lunch. Uncle Vernon was trying to teach his son how to play rugby, but Dudley could hardly run fast enough to keep up with his father ("Give me the ball!" he whined.). Aunt Petunia was standing off to the side, eyes filled with tears because her little Dudleykins was so talented. Harry could think of plenty of ways to describe how Dudley played, but "talented" was not one of them. Harry sniggered as he started up the staircase to his room, holding the apple in one hand. He turned the corner and heard a loud, irritating hooting noise.

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Hedwig.

Harry began to run to his room, apple clutched tightly in his hand. He pushed open the door to his room and saw that Hedwig was still locked into her cage, but she was hooting loudly and flapping around in the small enclosure.

"Hedwig, what is it?" he asked urgently, kneeling by her cage, but the owl only continued to squawk incessantly. He glanced around the room, trying to see what was upsetting his pet so badly, when he noticed something small and brown darting madly around just outside the window. Crossing the room, he looked out the window and saw that it was only Pigwidgeon, an owl belonging to one of his friends in the wizard world, Ron Weasley.

The Weasleys, parents Arthur and Molly with seven children, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny (the only girl and youngest of the lot), all had flaming red hair, a splatter of freckles, and were extremely poor but they were still Harry's favorite family. Just the year before, he'd attended the Quidditch World Cup with them to see Ireland and Bulgaria play. They had a family owl, Errol, but he was rarely up to long journeys anymore. Ron received an owl, Pigwidgeon, as a gift and was usually generally annoyed with the tiny bird. Harry hurriedly opened the window and Pigwidgeon zoomed in, hooting loudly. 

"Quiet…quiet!" he said urgently, hoping the Dursleys hadn't come in yet. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, knowing he would be locked in the cupboard under the stairs until he was fifty if they found out there were two owls flying amok and causing an awful ruckus. Obediently, Hedwig calmed and settled her feathers, showing Pigwidgeon the proper way to behave. The small owl took no notice and landed on Harry's bed, hopping up and down madly, but being blessedly quiet.

Harry reached out and untied a piece of parchment from around Pigwidgeon's scrawny leg. He unrolled it and smiled at Ron's familiar handwriting.

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Harry, how's it going? Sorry I haven't written in a while, but Mum got angry when Fred and George tried to bewitch Pig into a parrot who could tell jokes and wouldn't let any of us send anything for the past few weeks. I know the Muggle post takes ages to get from one place to another, so I decided to wait it out. I hope that that lousy git Dudley still has to do the diet thing. Mum says she'd send you more mince pies if they were making you eat the rabbit food. Anyway, we were wondering if you could come to Diagon Alley with us tomorrow. If you can, we'll pick you up on tomorrow at five and if you can't, we'll pick you on tomorrow at five anyway. Hermione will be with us, too. Send an answer back with Pig pronto. Ginny says hi.

Ron 

Harry smiled as he finished the letter and went over to the small desk to take out a piece of parchment and a quill with its inkwell. He scratched a note back to Ron saying that he'd be ready the next day at five with his things and tied it to Pigwidgeon's leg. He picked the small bird up in his hands and started for the window, but it had already rocketed out of his outstretched palm and into the mid-afternoon sky. He looked back at Hedwig, who was hooting softly as she buried her face in her feathers and drifted off to sleep.

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* * *

"Absolutely not!" Uncle Vernon roared, standing up from his armchair in he sitting room with his nostrils flaring and his face flushed red. "Those…those…people are never coming near this house again!" Harry wanted to cry out, "Why not?!" but he already knew the answer: The last time the Weasleys had shown up at the Dursleys', they'd practically destroyed the sitting room when they arrived by Floo Powder and smashed their way out of the fireplace. Also, by eating some of Fred and George's Ton-Tongue Toffees, Dudley had grown a four foot long purple tongue before Mr. Weasley was able to control the situation and right everything.

"But I'll be leaving early," Harry said desperately, clinging to all hope. He saw the muscles in Uncle Vernon's jaw working furiously as he thought this over. Uncle Vernon hated it when Harry was happy, but at the same time, it would get the boy out of the house sooner. "And you won't have to drive me to King's Cross on the first." This didn't seem to help, as he hadn't been driven to King's Cross since his first year at Hogwarts. Finally, Uncle Vernon decided.

"No, you will remain here until you need to go to that… _school _of yours. Petunia and I are going to shop for some rugby equipment for Dudley…fine young boy…properly sized," he said, glaring disdainfully at Harry's thin form. Too used to being compared to Dudley to care, Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Uncle Vernon cut him off, "No arguments or that owl of yours goes. Understood?" he barked. "And if you even think about sneaking off, you'll never come back into this house again." Harry fought the urge to tell Uncle Vernon that Number Four Privet Drive was his least favorite place in the world and that he'd be doing him a favor to toss him out. "And then off you'll go to enhance that… abnormality of yours." He sneered and turned to leave.

"But I need to get my school things…" Harry began to protest.

"That's not my problem, is it?" Uncle Vernon said cruelly before striding out of the room, a slight bounce in his step from the happiness of making Harry miserable.

Harry finally stormed from the room and up the stairs into his bedroom. Angry, he flopped down on the bed as he faintly heard the phone ring downstairs. He went through dozens of spells in his mind to wish on the Dursleys, but knew he was an underage wizard and would probably get expelled from Hogwarts if he used magic during the summer holidays. 

Sighing, Harry picked himself up and decided that he had to send an owl to Ron, telling him he couldn't come. He still didn't know what to do about his school books. Perhaps Dumbledore would let him take a quick trip to Diagon Alley when he got to school and before classes started. Harry pulled off the loose floorboard from under his bed, where he kept his school things and pulled out a quill, inkwell and a scrap of parchment.

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Ron-

The Muggles aren't letting me come. I don't know how I'm going to get my school books. Maybe Dumbledore will let me go to Diagon Alley and get them after I get to Hogwarts. Sorry. Say hello to everyone for me.

Harry

Harry rolled up the small piece of parchment and opened Hedwig's cage. Before he could reach in to tie the small piece around her leg, he heard Aunt Petunia's voice from downstairs.

"Boy, you've got a phone call!" her voice called. Harry sat up, startled. He'd never had a phone call in his life. The only person who had tried to call him was Ron and he'd nearly blasted Uncle Vernon's eardrum by yelling. In any case, Harry put his things away quickly and went downstairs. Uncle Vernon was holding the phone in one hand with a cold smile on his face. It seemed as though he could hardly conceal his excitement.

"You've got a phone call. A teacher at that place wants to discuss discipline for the upcoming year. It seems you've gotten into a lot of trouble." This time, there was a smirk on his face as he handed the phone to the young boy.

Trembling (At this, Dudley poked his head in from another room and grinned, although it was hardly noticed under his fat cheeks.), Harry took the phone from his uncle and pressed it to his ear.

"H- Hello?" Harry stammered.

"Harry? Are you all right? Oh, it's good to hear your voice!" Harry's eyebrows shot up. The voice was not that of a Hogwarts faculty member, rather that of one of his best friends, Hermione Granger. A bushy-haired fifteen year old with warm brown eyes and a brain like a computer, Hermione had been a companion since Harry's first year at school.

"Her-" Harry started in a disbelieving voice.

"Harry, don't say my name! Pretend as though I'm shouting at you; your uncle thinks I'm a professor at Hogwarts."

"Oh…right, Professor…McGonagall," Harry said aloud, nervously ("McGonagall," Uncle Vernon snorted.). The Transfiguration teacher's name was the first one that had popped into his head.

"Ron said he wrote you about coming tomorrow. Are the Muggles letting you go?"

"No," Harry said dejectedly. For good measure, he added, "I know I missed loads of assignments." At this point, Dudley was nearly beside himself in glee at Harry's supposed suffering.

"Well, you've got to get here somehow! You need to get your school things and we simply must go over our spells in preparation for our O.W.L.s."

"I know it'll take ages for me to make them up." Uncle Vernon left the room, laughing out loud. A noise came from inside the sitting room and Dudley's television program came back on, so the porky boy waddled back to his former spot. In a soft voice, Harry continued, "They're gone. Hermione, I don't know what to do. How am I supposed to get to Diagon Alley to get my things?" There was a pause as Hermione thought on the other end. "Maybe I can take my broomstick," he suggested.

"Don't be silly, Harry. How are you supposed to carry your trunk with all of your school things?" Harry's shoulders slumped. Hermione drew in a breath, as if she was about to suggest something, but then let it out. "I was going to say to come by the…"

"That's it!" Harry said excitedly, cutting her off and forgetting to lower his voice. Dudley looked at him through the doorway, a suspicious look in his eyes. "And I deserve all the punishment you've just explained." He lowered his voice again as Dudley's attention shifted back to the television. "Tell the Weasleys that I'll be there tonight. Tell them I'm sorry about the short notice, but it's the only chance I'll have." Uncle Vernon came into the room at that moment.

"But Harry-"

"All right, see you then, Professor," Harry said in the most miserable voice he could muster. He hung up the phone and looked at Uncle Vernon's smiling eyes.

"Seems that you won't be having as much fun as you thought," he said spitefully to his nephew. Harry didn't reply, only brushed past him and up the stairs to his bedroom. He saw Hedwig sitting on his bed, nipping softly at the parchment from the note he'd started writing to Ron. The snowy owl looked up at him, turning her head slightly to the side.

"Hedwig, we're going to the Weasley's tonight," Harry said happily, offering his arm. Hedwig hooted softly and flew forward onto his arm. After putting her away, he crumpled up the written note to Ron and threw it away, then laid down on the bed happily. He'd be to Diagon Alley sooner than he'd thought.

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* * *

Harry waited until late that night to put his plan into action. He was going to the Weasley's whether the Dursleys liked it or not, and if they forbade him ever to step into their house again, it would be a blessing. He gathered all his school things and tucked them safely into his trunk. Hedwig cocked her head to one side and looked up at Harry questioningly.

"We're going to the Weasley's," he explained in a whisper. "You have to be quiet," he said slowly, not entirely sure if Hedwig understood him. Whether she did or not, she remained silent as Harry put her cage under one arm and pulled the trunk softly with the other. The trunk began to make a loud scraping noise and Harry froze, listening to hear if the Dursleys were awake. He heard Uncle Vernon's sleepy grunt, but nothing more. Harry gently set his trunk down, searching for something soft to put beneath it so he could drag it out into the hallway and somehow, down the stairs.

Finally, he decided on a sheet from his bed and lifted the trunk up just enough to slide it under the dragging edge. Harry dragged it a few feet forward, testing it. He heaved a relieved sigh and put Hedwig's cage under his arm and started out.

Harry crept slowly into the hallway and down the (thankfully carpeted) stairs. He reached the front door and opened it slowly, so as not to make any creaking noises. He waited another moment until he was sure there were no other sounds in the house and then stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

At this point, he had to be careful of any of the possible people who would be up at this hour. He looked down the street each way to make sure there weren't any adults coming home from a night job or leaving for an early morning shift and started out. He waited until he was about a block away, where Privet Drive met Robin Lane, before opening his trunk and pulling out his wand.

He, of course, wasn't going to do any real magic. He was simply going to hail the Knight Bus, a royal purple vehicle that had picked him up inadvertently two years earlier. With a little smile on his face he raised his arm, his wand clutched tightly in his fist.

Nothing happened.

He looked up and down the street. Just before his third year, it had appeared nearly instantaneously and he hadn't even meant to flag it down. He raised his wand again; thinking perhaps he hadn't done it right the first time. Again, nothing. Soon, a lump of panic formed in his throat. He was stuck in the middle of the street with an owl and a trunk full of spellbooks and no way to get back to the wizarding world. Harry raised his wand one more time, hoping against hope that somehow he'd be able to catch the attention of the Knight Bus's driver, Ernie Prang, or his young, pimply assistant, Stan Shunpike.

Nothing came.

Not knowing what else to do, he picked up Hedwig's cage and went father down Robin Lane, almost to the point where it turned onto Magnolia Crescent. He tried one more time, standing on the tips of his toes and raising his wand arm in the air, waving it madly.

"Blimey, Harry, what in Merlin's name _are _you doing out at all hours of the night?" A voice came from behind him. His heart leaping into his throat as he drew in a sharp breath, Harry spun around to see Mrs. Figg standing in the doorway, nightgown swaying slightly in the breeze. He let out a sigh of relief.

"The Knight Bus," Harry gasped, regaining his ability to breathe. "Where is it?"

"Oh, come inside before you freeze," Mrs. Figg fussed, not answering his question. She was muttering something about young wizards these days and sleeping habits being affected. Harry lugged his heavy trunk under one arm and pulled on Hedwig's cage with the other until he was safely inside the house.

"So sorry," Harry gasped as Mrs. Figg shut the door with a cross look on her face. "Dursleys weren't going to let me go to Diagon Alley… had to get to Weasley's house."

"Weasley?" Mrs. Figg asked, arching an eyebrow as she picked up her wand from the coffee table. "Arthur and Molly?"

"Yeah, that's Ron's Mum and Dad," Harry answered, wondering exactly what Mrs. Figg needed her wand for.

"I knew them. Arthur Weasley and Molly Brown," she smiled. "They were just entering Hogwarts in my last year." Harry looked Mrs. Figg over critically. She looked much older than six years Arthur and Molly's senior, but as she was his best hope to get anywhere, he held his tongue.

"Well, I suppose you still need to get to the Weasley's tonight," Mrs. Figg said, eyeing Harry's belongings. Harry nodded. "Follow me," she sighed. Harry looked down at his things awkwardly, wondering whether or not to take them. Finally, he decided he had better and pulled them along as Mrs. Figg led him to a small room off the sitting room that Harry had never been allowed in.

By time Harry had gotten all the way inside with all of his things, Mrs. Figg had started a fire in the large fireplace in the corner. She pulled out her wand and pointed it at the flames and announced, _"Incendio_!_"_ The flames leapt higher and, with wide eyes, he watched as she took a small sachet off the mantelpiece and pour a silvery sandy substance in her hand. She threw it into the fireplace and the flames changed to a green sparkle.

"Go on…you're lucky this fireplace is still connected to the Floo Powder network," she said tiredly. Harry beamed.

"Thanks, Mrs. Figg!" He said brightly, feeling a lot better since he realized something was wrong with the Knight Bus. He pulled his trunk and Hedwig's cage, containing a very ruffled owl, into the flames and shouted, "The Burrow!" He waved fervently at Mrs. Figg as the room disappeared around her and Harry went spinning through fireplaces, finally on the way back to the wizarding world. His world.

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To be continued…

Author's Notes: I'd like to extend a huge shout out to Sita Marie (who just can't seem to keep that friend of hers in control), Selphie Leonhart (my evil co-conspirator, whose given me tons to work with and ideas to possibly make this into a trilogy), JM Robin (my twin), Susie Q (evil monkey and writer of the Fifth Amulet series), Krystyn Poe (High Priestess of Toastertarianiam, writer-in-training, and Azerbaijani advocate extrodinaire), and Chocolate Fireguard (who has the COOLEST pen name I've ever heard) for putting up with me through the whole editing process. It was remarkably annoying for them, I'm sure, so I'm truly grateful for it. This story wouldn't be half of what you scroll down and see if it wasn't for these incredibly patient people. I'd also like to thank all the people who were in the Harry Potter AOL chat room at two in the morning when I popped in and asked random questions about Lupin and Sirius.

This usually isn't put into A/Ns, but I need to thank Xing for this awesome site. He does so much to keep it going only to get complaints about things not working. 

I honestly don't mind flames (Howlers? ::giggle:J because they only show the reviewer's lack of intelligence. They also tend to be rather humorous. However, any received will be used to toast marshmallows. All other constructive criticisms are welcomed and appreciated. Okay, and one last tiny thing: Check out my web page at [http://www.homestead.com/AzkabanWizardPrison/fanfiction.html][1] Thanks!

   [1]: http://www.homestead.com/AzkabanWizardPrison/fanfiction.html



	2. The Boy Who Lived (2): The Burrow

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Author: George Weasley's Girlfriend

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Title: The Boy Who Lived

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Rating: PG-13

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Disclaimers: The characters and settings in J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series belong to her and not me. All other characters and creatures belong to me. Don't use them without my permission. Otherwise, I might get a little wand-happy and being HP-obsessed, I know some pretty good spells.

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Author's Notes: See end of chapter, but it might be a good idea to read [Part One: The Countdown.][1]

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The Boy Who Lived (2)

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"It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it was held up by magic… A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, **THE BURROW**." -Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

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Part Two: The Burrow

Harry coughed and sputtered as he spun around in the fireplace. The world around him was circling and he began to get dizzy. Floo powder was _not_ his favorite way to travel. He kept a hand closely tightened around Hedwig's cage and the other on the handle of his trunk. The fireplaces around him swirled as he came to a stop in the Burrow, the name for the Weasley home. He, along with the cage and the trunk, pitched forward into the sitting room, where he startled nearly sleeping Fred and George, Ron's seventh-year older brothers. Both of the seventeen year-olds were sprawled out on the floor and had been resting their heads on their folded arms.

"Blimey, Harry, you scared the wits out of us," George said, picking himself off the floor. Fred ran a hand through his flaming red hair and nodded.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't know how else to get here. The Muggles weren't going to let me come…" That's when it hit Harry that not only had he been expected either that evening but it was rather rude to barge in from someone's fireplace in the wee hours in the morning.

"They what?!" Fred asked, eyes wide.

"They weren't going to let you come here? Why not?" George chimed in. The two sat back in their chairs.

"I don't know; they just weren't," Harry lied, avoiding the question. "They weren't even going to let me go to Diagon Alley." He looked around the room and saw the slightly tattered furniture with wizard photographs (ones that move) hanging from old frames. A thirteen year old Charlie Weasley zoomed around the Quidditch field, trying to find the Golden Snitch. He saw the entrance to the kitchen back on the opposite wall and the small closet over on his left side. His green eyes skimmed over the ground, the light brown carpet soft beneath his trainers. To others, it would seem to be a little house with way too many people under its roof. To him, it was a palace.

"Are you okay, Harry?" George asked, noticing the dreamy smile on Harry's face. "You look a bit knackered, you know."

"Yeah," Fred said. "Maybe you should have one of our Perky Pills," he offered, holding out his hand, filled with small green pills. Harry eyed them suspiciously. The last time someone took something innocently offered by the troublemaking Weasley twins, they'd turned into a small lamb. Ron still bleated on occasion.

"Go on," George urged. When they thought Harry wasn't looking, they exchanged winks. Harry cleared his throat nervously, not wanting to be rude by denying but also wanting to remain featherless.

"Er… I think I'll pass," Harry said politely. Fred and George's shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"They're actually not Perky Pills," Fred admitted. "They're Weasley Wigglers. It makes the person wiggle as the pill wiggles all the way down to the stomach." Both twins snickered.

"What _is_ going on down here?" Harry and the twins looked up at the doorway to see a dark shadow. When it stepped into the dim glow of the fireplace, Harry thought a large leprechaun had somehow broken into the house, then realized it was only the plump Mrs. Weasley with some kind of green paste on her face and her red hair curled. Fred and George let out mock horror screams and dived behind the couch. "What are the two of you doing still awake at this hour? I had better not catch you working on those… those… enchanted candies. Because if I do…" At this point, her eye seemed to catch Harry. "Oh, hello, Harry," she said pleasantly. "Hermione sent an owl and said that you might be coming this evening, but we didn't expect you at quite this hour."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, finally setting down his trunk and Hedwig's cage. "The Muggles weren't going to let me come and I thought the Knight Bus bring me, but it didn't work and…"

"Oh, it's all right, dear. Don't worry about it just now. Why don't you go up to Ron's room and get some sleep? We're going to Diagon Alley tomorrow evening to get everyone's Hogwarts things. It's better if you're rested up. Fred, George, put Hedwig out back with Errol, Hermes and Pig. She'll probably want to stretch her wings." The twins picked themselves up from the floor and left to do as told and Mrs. Weasley turned back to Harry, who had started to pull on his trunk. "Don't worry about that," she said, pulling her wand out of one of the deep pockets in her dressing gowns. She levitated the trunk behind Harry all the way up the stairs and into Ron's room. "Sleep well, dear," she said sleepily, closing the door behind him. 

Harry looked around the room. Floor to ceiling was covered in posters of Ron's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons. Ron slept motionlessly on a tattered mattress with a rickety looking headboard. There was another mattress on the floor with blankets folded neatly on it; Harry knew it had been left for him. He took his glasses off, set them on the nightstand and slid beneath the soft covers. He was slowly lulled to sleep by the soft sounds of the ghoul in the attic.

****

* * *

When Harry opened his eyes the next morning, he saw two warm blue eyes and a shock of red hair very close to his face. He yelled and scrambled backwards, his arms and legs tangled in the sheets. The owner of the red hair and blue eyes backpedaled and fell in a heap on the mattress.

"Harry?" the red-head, a now-awakened Ron Weasley, asked incredulously. Harry felt along the ground and up the nightstand for his glasses and, when he found them, slid them onto his face. The room instantly sharpened. "What are you doing here?"

"I came last night by Floo powder," Harry explained, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and sliding his glasses back up his nose. "The Knight Bus didn't show up."

"Of course it didn't," Ron said, standing and running a hand through his hair. "The Knight Bus was stolen a few weeks ago."

"Stolen?" Harry repeating, struggling to his feet. He kicked the blankets away from him and followed Ron as they left the bedroom.

"Yeah, right out of the Ministry Busport, too. Dad reckons that it's some kind of call for attention to something because the Knight Bus really can't be used for anything but… well… traveling."

"You don't think it's Voldemort, do you?" Harry blurted out. Ron winced at the name, as most of the wizarding community did when it was mentioned. The name itself struck fear into the hearts of some of the bravest wizards. "Sorry… you don't think it could have been You-Know-Who?"

"What would You-Know-Who want to do with a bus? It doesn't make sense," Ron said nervously as they started down the stairs. "Besides… oh, good morning, Percy." The two had reached the bottom of the stairs and nearly collided with Ron's older brother, who had graduated from Hogwarts two years earlier. Extremely dignified and pompous, Percy Weasley had been a personal assistant to Bartemius Crouch, an important Ministry official in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the previous year. After Crouch's disappearance and eventual death put Percy out of a job and also had him under rigorous questing about the involvement of his former employer with Voldemort's followers. Since then, he'd been unemployed and living at home.

"Good morning, Ron," he said curtly. "Harry." And with that, he brushed past them and up the stairs.

"What's he on about?" Harry asked as they turned and headed for the kitchen.

"Oh, the usual. He wants to help at the Ministry, but he just doesn't understand that there aren't any openings for a nineteen year-old wizard." He thought for a moment. "Not Percy at least." The two boys sniggered as they entered the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was busily frying eggs and bacon by waving her wand around and muttering various words.

"Good morning, boys," she said brightly. "Sleep well?" They both nodded and sat at the rickety kitchen table. Harry watched as Mrs. Weasley waved her wand, sending several plates to the table in front of them and then followed them with food, which landed squarely in the center of the willow patterned plates.

"Where's Dad?" Ron asked. He moved to reach for a fork, but found it absent. "Mum…" he began, but Mrs. Weasley had already picked up her wand.

"Oh, forgot the silverware," Mrs. Weasley said absently as she opened the drawer from across the room and sent forks into Ron and Harry's outstretched hands. "Your father is at work already. That poor man is going to have himself a heart attack if he doesn't take some time off." Mr. Weasley worked in the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. "Some of his superiors think that the Knight Bus may be dropped into some common Muggle town for use as an ordinary transport… Imagine!" Ron and Harry began eating as Mrs. Weasley went on about the Ministry of Magic and security and her husband always picking up the extra work.

Harry tried to listen as he ate, but soon found his thoughts drifting as he looked out the window. He wondered how the Dursleys were going to react to finding his bed empty that morning. He hoped they wouldn't want him back so he'd be "forced" to remain in the wizarding world over the summer holidays. Both parties would be only too elated.

"…with Hermione in Diagon Alley this evening," Mrs. Weasley finished as she sat with them, her own breakfast steaming on the plate in front of her. Harry shook his head as he snapped back into reality to see that Ron had finished his food.

"I'm sorry," Harry said rather sheepishly, "I missed the last thing you said, Mrs. Weasley."

"That's quite all right, dear. What with all that's been going on these past few months, I can see what you'd be so easily distracted." As the words escaped her lips, she had the grace to look embarrassed. "Oh, I _am_ sorry," she apologized. "Sometimes I just put my foot right into my mouth. I was simply reminding Ron that we were meeting Hermione in Diagon Alley this evening. Now that I think of it, we will be leaving a little later now that we don't have to make a side trip to pick you up."

Harry bowed his head and poked his food with his fork, again feeling rather rude for barging in so early in the morning. Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to notice as she picked up her wand and sent Ron's plate carefully into the sink.

"I'll clean it later," she said absently, sending her own plate to join her son's. Harry had a feeling it would only take a moment to do the dishes. For a moment, he smothered a smile, wondering whether or not Aunt Petunia would still turn up her nose at magic if she knew how time-saving it could be with housework.

"Oh, and there's something I've been meaning to ask you, but I didn't think that last night was appropriate. You do need your sleep, dear. Exactly how did you get here by Floo Powder?" At this point, Ron had slouched down in his chair and was stretching his long arms and legs.

Harry poked the last piece of food in his mouth and swallowed, wondering if he should tell Mrs. Weasley about Mrs. Figg. He knew he shouldn't have found out and that Dumbledore wanted it (at least at one time) to remain a secret. Before he had time to decide, Ginny, the only girl and youngest of the entire Weasley lot, came down the stairs timidly. She stood in the doorway for a moment, chewing slightly on her bottom lip.

"Fred and George said you came by Floo Powder last night," she said, as a way of a good morning greeting to Harry. "I thought there were just trying to trick me again."

"Good morning to you, too," Harry said as Mrs. Weasley sent his plate to the sink. Ginny blushed furiously, then turned around and ran back up the stairs. Harry suddenly felt uncomfortable, as though he'd said something wrong. "Did I... erm… say something wrong?"

"Don't worry about it," Ron yawned. "She practically bursts into tears every time anyone talks to her. It's because she hasn't gotten an owl from Neville in the past two weeks… Her _boyfriend._ Can you believe it?" If Harry had been eating, he most certainly would have choked on his food.

"Neville… Neville Longbottom?" His eyebrows raised, remembering the clumsy young wizard. "And… Ginny?"

"Yeah, that's what I said!" Ron thought for a moment, running a hand through his fiery hair. "It would figure though, wouldn't it? They're both _most_ annoying at times…"

"Don't tease your sister, Ronald," Mrs. Weasley said, pointing her wand threateningly in their direction. "I've noticed that the owls from Hermione haven't exactly been uncommon around here." Ron's ears turned red as he slouched in his seat and muttered something about his mother being nutters.

"She's my friend, Mum," Ron muttered, not making eye contact with the other two people in the room. Harry might've allowed himself a remark, had there not been another distraction.

"Good morning, darling," a deep voice came from the doorway. Harry looked from Ron to the source of the voice to see Mr. Arthur Weasley, Ron's father. He was tall and lanky, reminding Harry somewhat of a scarecrow, if it could be possible for a scarecrow to begin balding. Mr. Weasley entered the room and kissed a glowing Mrs. Weasley on the cheek. "I'm afraid it's another early morning for me." He turned and seemed to see Ron and Harry for the first time. "Why hello, boys. Harry, I thought we were going to pick you up later today." Harry chewed on his lower lip, again not wanting to expose Mrs. Figg. "Fred and George didn't take the car out to get you again, did they?"

Harry smiled to himself, remembering the summer after his first year at Hogwarts when Fred and George, Ron in tow, had shown up at Four Privet Drive in Mr. Weasley's enchanted Ford Anglia. The twins had gotten Mr. Weasley in a spot of trouble, as he was working in the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts and it didn't look too admirable for Mr. Weasley himself to enchant cars to fly and have infinite trunk space.

Mr. Weasley didn't seem to worry about not getting an answer as he took a seat next to Harry and looked at him excitedly.

"You didn't happen to bring any Muggle things with you?" Ron made a noise of annoyance, for Mr. Weasley was utterly fascinated with the Muggle culture and how they got along without magic. On one hand, Mr. Weasley held an admirable position at the Ministry of Magic (which was headed by Cornelius Fudge), but on the other hand, Mr. Weasley collected plugs.

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* * *

Harry was able to successfully avoid directly answering how he'd gotten to the Burrow, but was able to signal to Ron that he'd tell him later. There were no secrets between Ron, Harry and the third portion of their trio, a Muggle-born girl named Hermione Granger. He also reminded himself to tell Hermione when they met up at Diagon Alley later, as Harry learned from Ron's parents.

Ron was sitting on his bed and going through a mess of parchment, trying to find his list of school things he would need for his fifth year at Hogwarts. He became frustrated quickly and Harry began to wonder how the Dursleys would react to a Hogwarts owl turning up with his own class list.

Seconds later, Harry's thoughts were answered when he heard a small tapping at Ron's window. They both looked up to see an owl rapping its beak impatiently against the glass.

"Get that, will you, Harry? I think I'm going to go positively nutters if I don't find that parchment…" Ron went on muttering to himself and became twice as determined to find the list. Meanwhile, Harry crossed the room and lifted the window. The bird immediately flew into the room, dropped a letter made of parchment into Harry's outstretched hand and sat patiently on the comforter next to Ron.

Harry smiled as he saw the Hogwarts school seal on the back with sealing wax and hurried to open it. He read the traditional opening eagerly then skimmed his eyes down to see the book list.

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Advanced Transfiguration by Mariana Stenson

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The Power of Plants by Herb Fripple

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Defense Against the Dark Arts For Fifth Years by Isabella Carter

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Concoctions for the Curious by Camilla Brewer

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The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 by Miranda Goshawk

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Divination II - Clearing the Chaos: A Guide for the Inner Eye by Belisa Tewill

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Magical Music by Melody Sonorous

Ron groaned, suddenly reading over Harry's shoulder. He poked the final item on the list with a bandaged finger.

"Magical Music? Oh, I can't carry a note in a wheelbarrow. This is going to be terrible," he said. Harry looked back and grinned at him.

"You won't have to sing," Harry pointed out. He jabbed another spot on the parchment where the other items for school were listed (thirty troll hairs, five ounces of black scarabs) and showed that there was a magical ocarina (five inches, cherry wood only) required.

"Well, I reckon I can breathe okay… there can't be much more to playing an instrument, can there?" Harry shrugged, having never played one before. He remembered that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had forced piano lessons on Dudley when he was young. The only thing that Dudley had accomplished was getting the sticky flakes of cinnamon rolls between the keys when eating.

At that moment, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the doorway, holding a sheet of parchment in her hand. She was smiling slightly as she watched Ron and Harry standing near the window, reading the supply list. Something in her eyes, though, was sad, as though she was reliving a painful memory. She noticed Harry staying at her and shook whatever she was thinking out of her head.

"Ready to go?" she asked brightly. "An owl from Hermione just arrived. She wants to meet you two at Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley at six. That's…" She looked at her watch. "That's about an hour from now. If we hurry, we can at least get some things done before you have to meet her."

"But I don't know where my class list is, Mum," Ron said as Harry tucked his own into the pocket of his jeans. Mrs. Weasley handed Ron the piece of parchment in her hand. "Oh… where did you find it?"

In an annoyed voice, Mrs. Weasley replied, "Fred and George put it in the bottom of Errol's cage. They thought it was funny."

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* * *

Harry wiped the soot off his glasses as he stepped out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, a small wizarding gathering place in London and the entranceway to Diagon Alley. He rubbed the lenses on the robes he'd changed in just before leaving, frowning at the black streaks. He put his round glasses on again and looked over at Ron, who was shaking his head and creating a small black cloud around him. The room came into focus when the glasses slid on Harry's nose and he surveyed his surroundings.

The Leaky Cauldron was what Muggles might call a hotel in way, considering there were rooms above the eating area where the wandering wizard could stay for a good night's sleep. The room came complete with a walk-in closet and a separate bathroom, which had a very helpful talking shower curtain that informed you what spots you missed.

There were wizards and witches sitting all along the bar area and in booths along the side. Some were sitting back, relaxing, and others were talking amongst themselves and laughing aloud. 

Harry took a moment to wonder how it was possible for them to laugh and drink while life around them could fall apart at any moment. Perhaps it was because they hadn't seen Lord Voldemort face-to-face mere months ago. Maybe the reason was that they didn't have to see Cedric Diggory, a fellow Triwizard champion and even a friend, get killed - murdered in cold blood - right in front of their eyes. It could have been because they didn't watch the man who had betrayed his parents, Peter Pettigrew, help Voldemort rise from near-death and then get rewarded with a silvery hand to replace the one he'd lost in the sacrificial ceremony.

Maybe that was it.

"Shall we begin then?" Ron asked, suddenly at Harry's side. He noticed the faraway look on his face and asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes… er… I'm fine." He cleared his throat and took the supply list out of the pocket of his jeans beneath his robes. "What time is it? Perhaps we can meet Hermione before we can begin getting our things."

Ron didn't hear the last thing Harry said, as the red-head was being tempted into eating a small green pill. Harry immediately recognized it as one of the Weasley Wigglers that Fred and George had attempted to pass off as Perky Pills the night before. He opened his mouth to warn his friend, but Ron had already swallowed it, oblivious. Harry winced as he waited for Ron to react and had to cover his mouth with his hand to cover his smile once Ron had started showing the effects. Ron wiggled around as though there was a bug in his robes and had a funny look on his face. Fred and George sniggered and all but fell to the floor laughing in glee as Ron glared back malevolently.

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* * *

Half an hour later, Harry was able to pull a fuming Ron off of George and drag him outside. It was actually a losing battle for Harry's attempt to help until Mrs. Weasley took out her wand and threatened to hex the whole lot of them. Ron had left reluctantly, Harry tugging on the sleeve of his shabby black robe.

The two best friends walked lazily down Diagon Alley. Harry hadn't been there a half dozen times, yet he thought that even if he went every day for the rest of his life, he'd never get to see all the shops and oddities that filled the small street. There was an Apothecary ("Scarabs half off! Don't forget to stock up in boomslang skin!") next door to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where the black Hogwarts school robes were on sale. Farther down was Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop where the boys could easily see George and Fred goggling through the window at the various tricks within.

"Do you suppose it's six yet?" Ron asked, trying to be nonchalant. The eagerness in his voice, however, didn't get past Harry.

"Let's go to Flourish and Blotts. If Hermione isn't there yet, we can always get our things first. Aunt Petunia accidentally picked up some of my quills and put them in her hat." Harry grinned at the memory of the ink blotches on the brim of his aunt's hat. Ron nodded and smiled.

"Race you," he challenged. "Loser buys butterbeer on the first Hogsmeade weekend." Before Harry could process the challenge, Ron was already running full speed, his long legs putting distance between him and Harry. Never one to back down, Harry followed, trying earnestly to catch up. They were nearly neck and neck when Harry spotted someone off to one side, stuffing something into a small pouch. He heard angry shouting following, but before he could turn his head fully to see what was happening, he felt something hard bash into his shin and went sprawling onto the cobblestone street. Loud laughter circled him and he lifted his head to see Ron just turning around and starting back at him. When the Weasley got to Harry's side, he helped Harry up, but had his eyes set in an angry stare at something behind him. Brushing off his robes, Harry adjusted his glasses and saw what Ron was glaring at… and couldn't help doubling the angry look.

Draco Malfoy, a fellow fifth-year at Hogwarts, stood in front of them in spotless black robes and a smug look on his face. His icy blue-gray eyes beheld a cold humor. The sunlight reflected off his silvery white hair and could have blinded anyone looking directly at them. Behind him stood Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father and a Death Eater (follower of the Dark Lord). Harry knew this for a fact, having seen Lucius in a cloak just after Voldemort's rebirth. Next to Lucius was Narcissa, Draco's mother. She must have been pretty a long time ago, but hate and fear had twisted her face, until she resembled a hag, no matter how much make-up she layered on.

"Walk much, Potter?" the fifteen year-old Malfoy asked, unable to keep an amused sneer off his face. "You should watch where you're going. You almost ran into me."

"You tripped him, Malfoy!" yelled Ron furiously, stepping forward with a temper to match his fiery hair. Being ahead of him, Harry knew Ron couldn't possibly have seen what happened, but he was grateful for the back-up.

"I did no such thing!" Draco retorted hotly. "Potter tripped over his own feet." He moved to step forward, but his father's hand came down hard on his shoulder, restraining him. Malfoy looked back at Lucius, startled. Father and son exchanged a meaningful look and Malfoy looked back at Ron and Harry coolly. "Watch yourself," he said in a carefully measured tone. With this, Malfoy and his parents turned and continued down Diagon Alley. Eventually, all the witches and wizards who had been staring goggle-eyed returned to their business since the action was over.

Ron and Harry looked at each other, both puzzled and thinking the same thing. When was the last time Malfoy had ever walked away from a potential fight? And when was the last time Lucius had ever stopped his son from exchanging hostile words with Harry? Something strange was definitely going on.

"What do you think they're playing at?" Ron asked quietly, watching the family walk away. 

"They're up to something," Harry replied. He turned and looked at Ron. "What do you think?"

"I don't know… It _has _been awfully quiet this summer. Considering… well… everything that's happened." He looked down at his trainers and then back up at Harry. "Are you _sure _you saw what you think you saw?" Harry knew what Ron was referring to immediately, the dark-haired boy's features hardened in defense.

The previous year, Harry had participated in the Triwizard Tournament and the final of the three tasks was to navigate through a hedge maze that was filled with all sorts of spells and magical creatures that needed to be thwarted.

However, the Triwizard tournament had not turned out to be merely an innocent attempt at improving relations between the many wizarding schools in Europe (especially Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang, as they were the three that participated). The Goblet of Fire, the impartial judge who chose one champion from each participating school to compete in the tournament, had been tricked into thinking that Harry was from a fourth school, and he was then forced to compete himself. It was feared that this entire set up was a part of a plan to rid the world of Harry – and it had been, just not in a way that anyone expected. The Triwizard Tournament Cup had been turned into a Portkey, and when Harry and Cedric Diggory, the other Hogwarts champion, grabbed it at the same time they had been transported directly to Voldemort.

At this point, Voldemort demonstrated his true evilness and lack of any possible mercy within him by ordering his servant, Peter Pettigrew a.k.a Wormtail to "kill the spare." To Voldemort, Cedric wasn't a handsome young wizard, he was simply a spare.

Cedric didn't have a chance.

Harry had been tied to the tombstone of Voldemort's Muggle father, Tom Riddle, Senior, and watched in terror as the Dark Lord was reborn before his eyes. First a bit of Tom Riddle, Sr.'s bone, then Wormtail's hand. Harry still winced at the thought of Wormtail's hand falling into the cauldron with a sickening splash. Finally a vial of Harry's blood had been mixed with the power of an ancient Dark Art to bring Voldemort back to power. The Death Eaters were summoned, so Harry now knew a great number of their names, and finally Harry was released from his bindings to duel with Voldemort himself. Only a strange and rare effect, _Priori Incantatem_, had saved Harry and he was able to escape with his life – but barely.

After the dust settled, Harry had told his story. He painfully recounted every moment for Professor Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster. Only Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione believed him. Now Ron was questioning him.

"You're absolutely right. I imagined all of it," Harry said scathingly, in a tone so cold and angry that it startled himself. He moved to step away from Ron, unable to face the hurt look on his friend's face any longer. Quickly, Ron's hand shot out and grasped Harry's wrist.

"I'm sorry, Harry. That's not what I meant. It's just… I thought You-Know-Who would have done something by now." He let go of Harry's wrist. "I'm sorry." Harry's shoulders slumped and he no longer felt the anger of moments ago. He knew it was tough for Ron to swallow his pride.

"It's all right… It's a pretty unbelievable story, isn't it?" He started to walk slowly down Diagon Alley once more, Ron again at his side. "Sometimes I do wonder if I imagined it sometimes." He drew in a breath and began to ramble. "I wonder if it was all just a dream and that Cedric is really alive and my parents really did die in a car accident and I'm just sleeping in my cupboard at the Dursleys and it's all just a--" Ron would never know exactly what "it" just was, for at that moment, an excruciating pain shot through Harry's forehead. Instinctively, Harry clamped his hands over his scar and fell to his knees. He fought hard against crying out and before he could, everything went black.

****

To be continued…

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Author's Notes: Is there _really_ something hard to understand about "To be continued…?" I mean… I put it at the end of my last part and people insisted on asking if there was to be more! Do you think I'd be so cruel as not to give a reason why the Knight Bus didn't show? ::sniffle:: My feelings are hurt. Oh, and Oreo… Chicago all the way!! Hey, I'm a Chicago native, too, so it's all good.

Big ol' thanks to my betas for this part: Krystyn Poe, Selphie Leonhart, JM Robin, poosh and SusieQ. Krystyn Poe pretty much wrote the recap of the Triwizard Tournament, Selphie is remarkably helpful with scheming… er… "brainstorming," JM Robin, my twin and sister-in-law (Don't ask.) has distracted me away from my story so much that I positively had to finish it and Susie caught all of my very very stupid mistakes. But any that shine through anyway are entirely my fault and were most likely made as a "touch-up" after the editing process. Smart me.

And to the people who want to know why I find George Weasley remarkably attractive… [this][2] is why. Yummy, isn't he? I'd like his brother, too, but Fred is just a touch too immature for my tastes.

   [1]: http://blue.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=86033
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/potterica/images/fred_george.html



	3. The Boy Who Lived (3): Jealousies

**Author**: George Weasley's Girlfriend

**Title**: The Boy Who Lived

**Rating**: PG

**Disclaimers**: The characters and settings in J.K. Rowling's _Harry Potter_ series belong to her and not me. Oh, and Smaug is the name of a dragon in J. Tolkien's _The Hobbit. _Smaug is a goblin in this story, but I suppose you'll have to get over it. The flashback at the end in italics is from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire,_ yet another brilliant creation of Ms. Rowling's.All other characters and creatures belong to me. Please don't use them without my permission.

**Author's Notes**: See end of chapter, but it'd be a good idea to read [Part One: The Countdown][1] and [Part Two: The Burrow.][2]

**The Boy Who Lived (3)**

_"Harry… was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts, but his [time] at the Burrow had been the happiest of his life. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when he thought of the Dursleys…" -Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_

**Part Three: Jealousies**

"Harry… Harry, can you hear me? Are you all right? Harry, answer me!" Those panicky words were the first that greeted Harry as he returned to consciousness. The voice seemed familiar, but it was as though he hadn't heard the voice in a while. 

Another, older voice interrupted: "Oh, dear… _Ennervate!_" It suddenly felt as though a rush of caffeine coursed through Harry's veins and his eyelids fluttered open. His vision was distorted at first, then became sharper when he reached up and adjusted his glasses.

"Where… where am I?" he murmured. He saw three people bent over him: Ron, Mrs. Weasley and a third, younger girl, whom Harry immediately recognized as one of his best friends, Hermione Granger. She, too, looked concerned, but also a little annoyed.

"You're in Gringotts, Harry," Ron said, peering down at him. "What happened? You were talking and it seemed as though you were getting upset. Then you just… fell. You grabbed your forehead and fell."

"Was your scar hurting?" Hermione said so quietly so that only Harry could hear. Without a second thought, he nodded slightly. Her eyes widened for a moment, then returned to normal size as Mrs. Weasley gave them both a strange look and began to fuss over Harry again.

"Harry, are you all right?" She paused a moment, looking him over. "Perhaps you've had a bit of sunstroke. That's a common Muggle sickness. I used to have a bottle of sunscreen in the house somewhere. That's what Muggles use to prevent sunstroke, you know." Here she paused and remembered: "But Arthur ate half the bottle and got very sick, so it's not around anymore." Mrs. Weasley was rambling on as Harry kept trying to sit up. Hermione firmly planted her hand against his chest, preventing him from rising.

"Really… I'm okay… It must've been sunstroke. That's all." The three figures studied him carefully. Ron was the first to relent.

"He said he was okay, Mum," Ron said. Reluctantly, Mrs. Weasley sat back. She'd been kneeling at the top of the white marble staircase of Gringotts Wizard Bank, at Harry's side. Hermione moved her hand and stood. Ron stood as well, and offered his hand down to Harry, whom he helped to his feet. Harry took a moment to regain his balance as the world teetered dangerously around him. He then adjusted his glasses again and shook his head, trying to make things look as though they were when he was perfectly conscious.

"See?" Ron said as his mother stood, wiping off her robes. "He's okay. C'mon, we've got to get our things." Before Mrs. Weasley could argue, Ron was pulling Hermione and Harry further into Gringotts. Harry was about to protest, but remembered he had to get wizarding money out of the bank before he could buy anything.

Gringotts was the only bank where witches and wizards could deposit their gold Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts. The architecture in the building was beautiful and was guarded by goblins that, at request, would join you in a small cart and travel at breakneck speed along a track until they got to your chamber. Each patron of the bank had a separate chamber and if anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried to break in, they'd be yanked within the chamber and trapped until someone found them. Harry remembered his first visit when he was eleven and the goblin had told him they only check for burglars about once every ten years. Harry gulped at the memory. 

"Harry Potter," he said as the trio approached the front desk ("Ron, let go of my robes," Hermione said impatiently, yanking her sleeve from Ron.). The annoyed goblin grunted at Harry and then motioned another employee over.
    
    "Smaug," the goblin clerk said with a wave of his arm, "Chamber three twenty-seven for Mr. Potter." He now turned to Harry. "Will your friends be accompanying you?" Harry looked to Ron and Hermione for objections and when he heard none nodded to the clerk.The clerk briskly said, "And take his friends as well."****

Smaug nodded and started for a small tunnel with Ron, Hermione and Harry in tow. They reached the entrance and Smaug let himself into what looked like a small coal cart and motioned for the fifteen year-olds to follow him. The three cautiously climbed in behind him and the cart jerked forward, plunging them deep through the winding, torch-lit tunnels.

Harry felt the wind whip through his hair and smiled. The first time he'd been in a Gringotts cart, he'd felt sick, but this time it almost felt like his favorite sensation: flying. He closed his eyes and pictured himself zooming around the world on his broomstick, a Firebolt.
    
    The Firebolt had been a gift from Sirius Black, his late father's best friend. It was given to cover "thirteen birthdays' worth of presents." However, it was received under the most suspicious of circumstances. Sirius, also called Padfoot, had spent time in Azkaban, a wizard's prison, for betraying Harry's parents, James and Lily Potter.The problem was, Sirius wasn't the one who deceived and then murdered them.

Fortunately, Sirius had escaped, but Harry hadn't known he was innocent… at first. The gift was given anonymously and it wasn't until a strange unfolding of events that hid Sirius from authorities and allowed the older wizard to let Harry know who the gift was from. Now, however, Sirius was living hidden somewhere that even Harry was clueless to the whereabouts. Before going into hiding, Sirius made Harry promise to tell him anything out of the ordinary happening. 

_My scar hurting is most certainly out of the ordinary,_ Harry mused as the cart slowed. He fought inside between telling Sirius as he had promised or watching out for Sirius's safety by keeping him away from Hogwarts, where he could be spotted by wizards who believed he was a murderer.

"Harry… Harry, we're here," Ron was saying. He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Harry?" The black-haired boy snapped back to reality and nodded shakily. He got out of the cart and watched as Smaug stood in front of the door. The goblin reached out a long, gnarled finger and stroked it softly. As though someone has thrown a stone into a lake, the door began to ripple, then fade altogether.

Harry turned to see Ron helping a dizzy-looking Hermione out of the cart. He could have sworn he saw a slight flush in Hermione's cheeks as Ron took her hands, but as soon as he was sure it was there, it was gone.

"Sir, you may enter," Smaug said in a clipped voice. Harry smiled at him awkwardly. Inside, golden Galleons stacked high next to piles of silver Sickles that rested near a splatter of bronze Knuts. He stepped forward and into the chamber, pulling a pouch out of his pocket ("Don't forget your pouch, dear," Mrs. Weasley had reminded him that morning.). He knelt down and scooped money into it, mentally calculating how much money he would need for school things. Finally, his bag heavy, he turned to leave.

He stopped cold when he saw Ron standing in the doorway, open-mouthed. He'd probably never seen so much money in one place in his entire life. Being poor hadn't been easy for Ron and Harry immediately felt shame for reasons he couldn't exactly explain.

"Blimey, Harry," Ron whispered, blue eyes as wide as saucers. "H- how much money do you _have_?"

"I don't know," Harry answered uneasily, seeing Hermione step forward behind Ron.

"Too much to count, is it?" Ron asked, not able to keep an edge out of his voice.

"That's not fair, Ron," Hermione said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You know Harry didn't ask for this." Harry looked down at his feet. It truly wasn't fair. The Weasleys were a huge family and they probably didn't have a quarter of what Harry had been left from the death of his parents. Ron pulled his shoulder away from Hermione and turned to walk back out to the cart. Hermione looked at Harry, a strange expression on her face.

"Haven't you two ever heard the saying 'The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence?'" she asked them. Harry and Ron looked at her blankly. 

Finally, Ron said, "What are you on about?" in a voice someone might use with a mental patient.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again. She stared back and forth between Harry and Ron as they exchanged confused looks. "Never mind." 

But she sounded a little sad.

*** * ***

Fifteen minutes later, Ron, Hermione and Harry piled out of the small cart. Harry thanked Smaug in a weak voice and the trio left Gringotts. Hermione walked between the boys, trying to engage the two in conversation, but things were awkward at first. Finally, though, the three became involved in a loud, laughter-filled conversation that had many of the elder wizards and witches sending glares in their direction.

"…And then Fred put the Canary Creams in the post instead of the chocolates…" Ron was saying, desperately trying to get the words out in between snickers. "I think he got Howlers from Neville's grandmother for a week!" Harry and Ron nearly collapsed in giggles and Hermione stood between them, trying to look disapproving, but definitely fighting a smile.

"We'll start with Flourish and Blotts, then?" Hermione said, pointing off to the right. The boys nodded and headed towards the store. The shop was slightly worse for the wear, but Harry privately thought it added character to the place. It was then that Harry remembered that Hermione was supposed to meet them in Flourish and Blotts. What had she been doing in Gringotts? Harry asked her just that.

"I couldn't get in, as there was a bit of a scene. Apparently, some very rare ink is missing. Not for writing, mind you. I don't suppose they would have gotten into such a tizzy about it if it was just plain ordinary ink. Besides, the manager was in a horrible row with the clerk over it," Hermione answered with a shrug. "They have it all cleared up now, I think." They stepped inside to see the small shop nearly deserted. As they browsed through the aisles looking for parchment and quills, Harry remembered the moment just before Malfoy tripped him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen someone shoving something into a bag. Shouting had followed. Had he unknowingly witnessed a robbery? Then again, it could have just been a Hogwarts student getting something from a shop and then being called by their mum to hurry. But could it have been the ink being stolen?

"Wow, Harry, come and look at this," Ron's awed voice came from the end of the aisle. The redhead had a large, dusty book in his hands and he turned it over, eyes wide. Surprised that a book of all things could possibly enchant Ron, Harry rushed to his side.

"_Potions and Their History for the Struggling Student,_" Harry read from the cover. "Snape'll never be able to fail you if you have this." By now, Ron had started flipping through the fragile pages and the two could see simple recipes for otherwise complex concoctions. Small passages in the corners had interesting trivia tidbits ("Love Potions and The Reasons They're Illegal" and "How to Remember What You've Forgotten Even When You Don't Know What You Forgot."). Hand-drawn pictures showed different stirring styles (In the lower corners were the initials [L.D.S.][3]) and pictures of great alchemists. Most of the portrayed scientists were asleep, but the hag on page XVI looked as though she was about to awaken.

"Think you'll get it?" Harry asked. Ron flipped the book over and glanced at the small price tag affixed near the bottom.

"Er… no, I think I'll just get help from Hermione. She's a walking book anyway, right?" Ron smiled uneasily and set it down. Harry noticed the slightly longing look on Ron's face as the red-haired boy glanced quickly down at the book a second time. He was saved from saying anything when Hermione walked up, a bag with Flourish and Blotts stamped across it.

"Are you two ever going to buy your things?" she asked, exasperated. "Honestly… I mean, I could spend all day in here, if the two of you would like…"
    
    "No! We're getting our things… really!" Ron said quickly, the thought of an entire day trapped in a bookstore undoubtedly terribly boring to him. Ron quickly picked out his books and gathering the things he needed. Harry, not in a terrible rush, watched Ron scurry around the shop with an indulgent smile on his face.After they finished and paid, they stepped out into the bright sunshine.

"Anyone for a sundae at Florean Fortescue's?" Harry offered, nodding towards the small ice cream parlor. "My treat." Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then back at Harry, nodding eagerly. The three hurried up the small stairs that led to the door and eagerly scrambled inside, claiming a small table. They were well into their second sundae when Hermione dared to bring up Harry's "sunstroke."

"Harry, that wasn't really sunstroke.You've got to tell Sirius about this. Professor Dumbledore, as well," Hermione told him, just after filling in Ron. "I mean, Dumbledore is headmaster and he would know what to do and Sirius said…"

"Oh, be a little louder about Sirius and perhaps a Ministry official will overhear, Hermione!" Ron hissed across the table at her. She flushed indignantly and then shook off the comment.

"Snuffles _would _know how to handle the situation," said Hermione. Ron snickered when she said Snuffles instead of Sirius, but it was necessary; there were wizards who would love to see Sirius dead.

"But last time I told him something, he got close to Hogwarts. He could have been caught and sent back to Azkaban!" Harry protested. "Besides, it's gone now. No harm done, right?"

"It made you pass out!" Hermione had little patience for Harry when he claimed his scar was not important; she argued that he was not giving the matter serious enough attention or consideration. But then, she said the same thing about Elfish welfare, so Harry had a hard time paying attention to her. "And if You-Know-Who is in Diagon Alley…"

"Hermione," Ron interrupted in a far more patient voice than Harry had ever heard him use, "You-Know-Who is not in Diagon Alley and Harry is just fine." As Harry listened to these words carefully, he wasn't sure if Ron was denying it to himself, trying to comfort Hermione or truly believing it. "Come on, think about it. There are loads of wizards around here. You-Know-Who isn't crazy enough to try something when he's outnumbered a hundred-to-one."

"But if he's got Death Eaters with him…" Hermione began nervously. Harry bowed his head, ugly flashbacks invading his head.

_From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say, _"Kill the spare."

_A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words into the night: _"Avada Kedavra!"

_A blast of green light blazed through Harry's eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to the ground beside him; the pain in his scar reached such a pitch that he retched, and then it diminished; terrified of what he was about to see, he opened his eyes…_

"Stop talking about it," Harry said quietly, looking up. He forced the memories out of his head and fought hard against the lump forming in his throat. Hermione's eyes saddened and she laid a hand on his. Ron watched this action critically, then cast his blue eyes away.

"Shall we get supplies for Potions now, then?" Hermione said brightly, obviously trying to change the conversation and suppress the tension.

"Sounds good to me," Harry agreed. The three finished the last of their sundaes and headed for the Apothecary.

*** * ***

"Let's see… I'm low on troll hair and butterfly wings," Harry said absently as he looked at the list of things he needed for Potions class. "And, oh, I haven't any hippogriff feathers. I wonder what we're using those for."

"Hippogriff feathers, really?" Hermione questioned, reexamining her supply list. "There are very few potions I can think of that contain hippogriff feathers."

"And if Hermione doesn't know of it, chances are it doesn't exist," Ron added, not missing a beat. Hermione took no notice, far too used to his comments to care, and carefully measured out some toad eyes. 

"They are, of course, used in complex Paralysis Potions and in Love Potions. Both are quite illegal, though." She watched as Ron scooped scarabs into a small bag and measured them. He pulled money out of his moneybag to pay for them, but the witch who was selling them waved it away.

"Oh, just take them, dear. We have too many of those blasted things anyway," she insisted. "They're too hard to keep a watch on. We lost two crates this morning. They could've been stolen for all I know. Consider them complimentary." Ron's ears flushed a little red when she winked at him, but he quietly thanked her.

Harry, Hermione and Ron continued on and stopped over at Quality Quidditch Supplies, where Ron took a quick interest in the Chudley Cannons merchandise and Hermione quickly began absorbed in strategy guides for the wizard sport. Harry walked slowly over to a rack of small Practice Snitches, small walnut-sized golden balls with wings. Inside their boxes, the tiny wings beat fervently against the sides.

He picked one up in his hand and read the side of the box:

_Attention All Aspiring Seekers: Want to practice more often but can't find a spare Snitch lying around? With this handy (not regulation) Snitch, you'll be able to practice anywhere and any time! And don't worry about losing it because two quick, sharp whistles will send it flying right to your hand!_

"Oh, wow…" Harry murmured, as he reached one hand down to dip in his money bag.He ran his fingers over the metal coins, counting it by relying on his knowledge of the sizes.He glanced at the price tag.Did he have enough?He pulled his hand out and examined the money in his palm.

_Let's see_, he thought._I still have to buy Hermione's birthday present.That's coming up… And then there's Ron's birthday and Christmas…I should have enough_, he decided.He picked up the small box on one hand and counted out the exact change in the other.Head bent, he began to walk forward, muttering about Knuts to Sickles and how he had been so used to the British pound.Suddenly, he felt someone run into him hard, sending him flying backwards.

"Wha…" he murmured, his glasses hanging askew on his nose.He turned his head to see Draco Malfoy leaving the shop quickly, a cruel smirk on his face.He scowled after him, swearing to get some Canary Creams from Fred and George to put in Malfoy's breakfast.He shifted onto his knees and began to scoop up his change.A brown-haired girl around his age knelt beside him and helped him until everything was collected.He thanked her, smiled and went ahead to pay.

"Ooh, what's that?" Ron said, sidling up beside him.Without waiting for an answer, he took the box out of Harry's bag and read the side panel."Oh, neat. You'll have to let me have a go back at home.Are you finished?"

"Sure.Where's Hermione?" Harry asked as Ron dropped the box back in Harry's bag.Ron stood on his tiptoes and peered over the shelves.He smiled when he spotted her.

"Hermione, come on!" he said, waving a long arm.

"I'll be there in a moment.Why don't you two go outside?" Hermione's voice called back.The boys looked at each other, shrugged, and stepped outside.They sat side by side on the front steps, Harry's bag between them.There was an awkward silence and Ron was studying his hands critically.Harry opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Hermione stepped out of the shop and plopped rather ungracefully between them.

"Where to next?" she asked brightly, holding tight to her shopping bag.

Their shopping trip ended much too quickly and Harry and Ron bid their good-byes to Hermione, promising to meet on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on September first, their first day at Hogwarts for their fifth year. Ron and Hermione parted with a hug, something that made Harry raise his eyebrows. He was beginning to think that they were beginning to fancy each other a bit.

Harry lagged behind a bit as he saw the Weasleys standing in a big clump near the fireplace they were going to use back to the Burrow. George was showing Ron a flower he had bought for his girlfriend and Fred was anxiously asking if it shot water. Mrs. Weasley was keeping an eagle eye on the twins, reminding them it was their last year and they should be able to get through it without getting expelled. Ginny stood beside her mother and was pulling on the older woman's sleeve, wanting attention.

As much as the Weasleys accepted him, Harry felt like an outsider. A family of carrot tops with one tousled black-haired boy thrown into the mix. Blinking rapidly, he strode over to join them.

*** * ***

The blue-eyed child was seated across from the white-haired man, lips pursed in silence awaiting instruction. While the child had not lived yet a score of years, the man was over a hundred years old and halfway into his second century. His eyes, however, were older, and had the dark glimmer of evil within their frosty depths.

"You know what your task is," he said in a gravelly voice. "You obey only me and our master. No one else. Is this understood?" The child nodded solemnly, hair shining beneath the harsh torchlight. "The trap is to be set with the utmost subtlety. You almost gave yourself away in Diagon Alley."

"I am truly sorry," the child apologized in a low, dull voice. An observer might think the child was under a spell, but that was indeed not the case. The child knew full well what was being done and was in complete control of all actions taking place. "I accomplished the task, did I not?" The man raised his eyebrows at this cutting tone, both pleased with the determination and daunted by the challenge.

"That you did," the old man answered. "But you could have revealed what has been your purpose since birth. You have done well, proving you are capable of simple mischievous acts in real-life situations. However, you must continue forth. Do not underestimate the boy for a single moment. He has proven resourceful and wise far behind his years. He has been able to survive two meetings with our master. It is not to happen again. Is this understood?"

"Yes, sir," the child answered.

"You may go then," the old man said with a dismissive wave of his hand. The child nodded, then stood, turning for the door. "Oh, and…" The child stopped and turned back. "Enjoy the school year. Hogwarts will be having quite an exciting year, I daresay," he speculated with a wicked grin.

"I most certainly agree."

**To be continued…**

**Author's Notes: **This part is dedicated, as always, to my beta readers (JM Robin, Krystyn Poe, Selphie, SusieQ and poosh). But this is also specially dedicated to Coriann, a faithful reader and reviewer who even went to my website and signed the guest book and B, another faithful reader and reviewer who plugged TBWL on the [Paradigm of Uncertainty][4] eGroup. Very much appreciated. Thanks to all my reviewers! Love you to pieces!

Oh, and I know this part is short and I'm sorry, but I really wanted to get this one out in time for

GinnyPotter asked in a review: "Just one thing (ok, two) -- I think Ron has brown eyes, I mean, since Ginny does, i figured they all do. And doesn't Mrs. Weasley already know about Mrs. Figg? She was there when Dumbledore sent Sirius after her and the old gang."

Well, I've gotten some conflicting opinions on this. Some say they're brown and others say they're blue. Also, brothers and sisters can have different colored eyes. Example: My brother has pale blue eyes and I have medium brown eyes. So I just decided that Ron was going to have blue eyes… 1) Blue eyes are pretty and 2) I just love Ron to pieces. ::grins:: And as far as the other thing… she probably knows the name "Arabella Figg," but doesn't know that it's the old lady who lives near Harry.

Al asked in review: "Just as good as the first part (hey, true to my word ain't I?). My constructive criticism gene is telling me to twll you to watch your spelling a bit, and to ask you why you italicised it? Enough nitpicking, on with the review. Ginny and Neville? Are you trying to prequel me? I don't care if you are, and there's only so many combinations to go round :-) ... good luck with that angle, I'm rubbish at romantic bits ... and you put Draco in! Yay! Are you making him evil or nice in this? Can't wait. Later!"

You know… two people have mentioned the italicized thing, but it's not showing up italicized on my computer. Perhaps… Oh, I don't know. Sorry, but I don't know how to fix it. Prequel you? You have a fic out with Ginny and Neville? ::looks blank:: I've got them together for a special reason. ::covers mouth with hand:: Oh, I've said too much! And, as always… Draco will be Draco.

Poosh nitpicked: "But, sweetie, there's one thing that really bothered me . . . in that one "canary" thing, you changed it to a lamb, but in the next paragraph, Harry wanted to stay featherless. That was just niggling my pitiful little brain . . . "

Argh. Hmph. Well… lambs have feathers. So there.

Lizzy reviewed: "OH NO!!! ITS VOLDIE!!!! "

Oh, is it? I wasn't aware of this. Ah, all writers must have a soft spot in their hearts for the reader who simply accepts the easiest explanation… Muwahaha! Geez, this has to be the longest A/N in existence.One more thing, though.Does anyone else get remarkably frustrated by the authors who threaten not to write any more to their fics unless they get # amount of reviews?Oh, it's so annoying to see that!

~*~*JanaBelle*~*~

To Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived!

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=86033
   [2]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=97888
   [3]: http://www.geocities.com/hpartlar
   [4]: http://www.egroups.com/community/ParadigmOfUncertainty



	4. The Boy Who Lived (4): Arrivals and Unex...

**Author: George Weasley's Girlfriend**

** **

**Title: The Boy Who Lived**

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**Rating: PG-13**

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**Disclaimers: The characters and settings in J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series belong to her and not me. All other characters and creatures belong to me. Don't use them without my permission. Otherwise, I might get a little wand-happy and being HP-obsessed, I know some pretty good spells.**

** **

**Author's Notes: See end of chapter, but check out the first three parts: [Part One: The Countdown][1], [Part Two: The Burrow][2] and [Part Three: Jealousies][3].**

**The Boy Who Lived (4)******

_"Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet.He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome." -Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_

**Part Four: Arrivals and Unexpected Surprises**

September first dawned bright and early and the usual bustle and confusion presided at the Burrow.Just as they'd all gotten into Arthur Weasley's borrowed Ministry car, George announced that he'd left the rose for his girlfriend in the house and pushed his way out of the car to run back.

"Got everything, children?" Mrs. Weasley asked in a slightly irritated voice.Everyone nodded and they were off.

Once at King's Cross, the family piled out.Percy, who had fought tooth and nail with his mother that morning about coming to the station, got out with a frustrated noise and stood beside the car, arms folded across his broad chest.

"Be pleasant, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, patting Percy on the shoulder.Reluctantly, he dropped his arms and hugged Ginny goodbye. Giddy, the fourteen year-old girl skipping happily through the barrier between platforms nine and ten.Laughing about something that sounded suspiciously malicious, Fred and George followed behind her.Just before Ron and Harry were about to go through, Hermione ran up to them, pulling her trunk behind her.At the end of the pervious year, she'd magicked wheels onto one of the ends and was now able to move the heavy object with ease.

"Let's go then," she said, smiling broadly.Harry went first.He started walking towards the barrier and, as always, sped up a little in anticipation.After living for eleven years believing in the laws of physics, walking through a stone barrier was a bit odd.When he opened his eyes, he was standing on platform nine and three-quarters, where dozens of Hogwarts students were already assembled.He looked down to check on Hedwig as Ron and Hermione came through the barrier a few moments later.

The three teens set their bags down and Harry moved to stand – but found something pulling on his sleeve.It took him a moment to work out what happened and he saw that the sleeve of his robes had gotten caught on a nick in Hedwig's cage.

"I can see it coming," Hermione said excitedly as Harry tried frantically to get his sleeve unstuck from Hedwig's cage.She went on rambling, but Ron, who was tying his shoe, stood up and looked at Harry, rolling his eyes.Just as he was about to say something, Hermione knelt forward to look down the track and stumbled on the front hem of her robes, pitching forward towards the tracks.

"Hermione!" Ron gasped as he stood in a flash.Before Harry could blink, Ron had Hermione in his arms and was pulling her from the edge.A split second later, a loud train whistle announced the arrival of the Hogwarts Express, a remarkable train with a gleaming scarlet engine, and the engine whooshed past the spot, the cars trailing behind it rattling.

"Wow… that was close," said Harry, his sleeve finally coming free."Hermione, are you okay?"By now, Ron had let go of her and was turning slightly pink in the ears.

"Yes… yes, I'm all right," Hermione said a little breathlessly, brushing off her robes.She looked back at Ron to say something, but Mrs. Weasley rushed forward and stepped between her and Ron.Harry waited a moment for the scolding from Mrs. Weasley for being too close to the tracks, but it ever came.He let his breath out in a whoosh.She hadn't seen.

"Oh, Ron, dear, you forgot your..." Mrs. Weasley said, trying to read the names on the paper bags in her hands. The plump, red-haired woman looked rather frazzled, trying to keep track of all of her children at once. "Here, take your snack, dear." She kissed Ron's cheek affectionately and handed him a brown paper bag. "Now, don't be late. Be sure to send an owl if you ever need anything. It's rather cold at Hogwarts. Well, it was in my day..." She got a dreamy look on her face. "Anyway, let me know if you run out of sweaters."

"Mum..." Ron groaned. Every year, his mother knitted and sent him a maroon sweater for Christmas. Once Ron had joked that he clothe the entire Hogwarts student body in red Weasley sweaters.

"Have fun, but be careful!" she called worriedly, watching them head for the train.Ron smiled indulgently.If she knew half the things the trio did, she would have a heart attack on the spot. 

The three happily boarded the train and sat in a compartment; Hermione and Ron arguing over the amount of butterfly wings a potion that was supposed to make someone's feet turn green contained. 

An hour into the trip, a girl pulled aside the small door separating areas and stepped into their compartment. It took a moment, but Harry recognized her as the one he had bumped into in Quality Quidditch Supplies. Her steely blue-gray eyes held certain confusion, as though she didn't know where she was.

"Excuse me," she said, "But have any of you seen a small brown owl?" She smiled nervously. "I seem to have lost her." At first sight, it had seemed to Harry that she had purposefully come into this compartment and not just for a lost owl.There was too much determination in her eyes. He'd learned plenty about things not being what they seemed.

"Erm…" Harry began. Ron elbowed him hard in the ribs and gave him an odd look.Harry cleared his throat loudly.

"No, I don't believe so," Hermione answered with a shrug. "Sorry." She looked quickly between Harry and the girl, then back to her Potions book and began to leaf through it, apparently trying to find the concoction to end her and Ron's argument. The girl frowned a little and let the curtain fall back.

"What's wrong with you, Harry?" Hermione asked. "You look like you're positively going to faint." Harry shook his head and tried to concentrate on what his friend was saying. 

"I know what it is," Ron said with a knowing grin. "Our Potter has fallen in love."

"Love?" Harry sputtered. "That's ridiculous. I don't even know her." Ron and Hermione just exchanged smiles.Harry scowled darkly at them. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he muttered, crossing his arms.

"Harry doesn't stutter for just anyone," George teased from a nearby seat. _Oh, great, Harry thought. __With the Weasley twins seeing all that, I'll never live it down. The twins went into a chorus of "Harry and his girl sitting in a tree..." At that point, all Harry wanted to do was to be left alone._

Harry remained silent for the rest of the trip, rather tired.The Weasley's resident ghoul had been up half the night banging on the water pipes. He tried to force the girl out of his mind and think about the upcoming school year. After all, they were taking their O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels) this year and he had a sneaking suspicion that they would be difficult. 

Finally, a smile lit his face as the Hogwarts castle came into view. Situated on top of a mountain, its multiple turrets seemed to reach upward to the sky and the lake in front of it showed no indication of the giant squid that dwelled beneath its surface. The train came to a halt and all of the students (except for the first years, who took small boats across the lake) were loaded into carriages and started for the castle.

*** * ***

Harry sat heavily in one of the seats at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, where all the meals were eaten. He had Ron on his left and Hermione on his right, all three of them starving.

Silence filled the Great Hall as Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and head of the Gryffindor house, came out of a small door and placed a tiny stool in front of the head table for staff. With her other hand, she placed a tall, but tattered hat with a wide brim on top. The eleven-year old first years looked at it, not sure whether to be terrified or joyful. The wide brim opened and a singing voice filled the Great Hall.

_ _

_Created I was many centuries ago,_

_And was then assigned the task,_

_To place the children in their rightful Houses_

_Starting with the first and ending with the last._

_In Gryffindor live the valiant souls,_

_Who place brave virtues above all others._

_Hufflepuffs are the loyal ones,_

_Who would never betray sisters or brothers._

_Ravenclaws are the brains of the bunch;_

_Their wits are unsurpassed._

_Sneaky Slytherins want to triumph_

_And never consider last._

_Successes can occur in every house,_

_No matter where one is placed._

_Remember to be patient for an answer,_

_Such decision must forego haste._

_So plop me down atop your head,_

_And be ready for an honest reply._

_For no matter what you think of me,_

_The Sorting Hat can't lie!_

_ _

The Sorting Hat was a magical cap that, when placed on first years and all other new incoming students' heads, would put them into one of the four Houses at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Ron, Hermione, and Harry all belonged to the Gryffindor House and were very happy there along with several other of their friends, including Lee Jordan, the Quidditch announcer and Dean Thomas, an extravagant football fan.

Harry, Hermione and Ron watched the Sorting Hat place students into various Houses. The first years all looked apprehensive and excited and a few were downright beside themselves with worry.Harry had a feeling the visitor to his compartment during the train ride was a newcomer to Hogwarts and waited impatiently for her turn to come. In the back of his mind, he hoped she was in Gryffindor with him.Soon, the first years were completely sorted and there were only twelve new incoming students. Harry noted that one of them was the mysterious girl he'd seen now twice before.

"Tynen, Ruth!" Professor McGonagall called. Harry looked anxiously to see if the girl would move. No dice. Ruth Tynen was placed in Ravenclaw. "Bentley, Amanda!" Not her. "Hartman, Terrence!" _Definitely not her. A loud bang off to his right distracted his attention for a few moments. He turned to see the Weasley twins snickering as they held up the broken end of a firecracker. Harry shook his head and focused back on the Sorting._

The girl who had come into his compartment looking for her missing owl was on stage, the Sorting Hat placed atop her head. Harry cursed himself for missing her name, but watched attentively. She was looking up at it, nervous yet determined. Just before the decision was made, she smiled slightly and lowered her eyes to her lap, where her folded hands lay.

"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat declared. Harry shrugged. It wasn't as though he even knew the girl, but she seemed nice enough.Strange that she was sorted into Slytherin.He turned back to Ron and Hermione to say something, but saw that their jaws were hanging open. He waved a hand in front of their faces and they turned to look at him, still stunned.

"What?" Harry asked slowly, wondering what had induced his friends' catatonic state.

"Didn't you hear her name?" Hermione whispered. Harry shook his head and Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

"What was it?"

"Anya," Ron replied, in a half-choked whisper. "Anya _Malfoy." Before Harry could properly respond, Albus Dumbledore, headmaster at Hogwarts, ignited several sparks from the end of his wand, calling all conversation to a stop._

"Welcome," he said, eyes twinkling, "to another year." A loud burst of applause filled the Great Hall. "I see a lot of familiar faces as well as many new faces." Harry could have sworn he saw Dumbledore glance off towards the Slytherin table. "I hope all of the students who are used to life here at Hogwarts help the new students get used to the old place." At this, he looked upward at the ceiling, which was enchanted to look like the night sky. As if he had some sort of power over his students, they all looked upward with him to see a shooting star streak across the sky.

_ _

_Please let me see my parents one last time, Harry wished, closing his eyes. The wish had popped into his mind instantaneously. It was something he wished for every night before he went to bed and every morning when he woke up. If he told anyone, he'd be "poor little Harry Potter" in addition to "the famous Harry Potter." He didn't want to deal with that. After all, he was "the Boy Who Lived," the only one ever to survive __Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse. What was a simple longing after living through that?_

When Dumbledore looked back down, he had an unmistakable smile on his face. Somehow, Harry thought Dumbledore himself had made a wish of his own.

"Enjoy your feast," he said simply. There was a moment of silence before a burst of applause. The students looked down at their once-empty plates, which had now filled with food. Harry remembered how hungry he was and began to eat. He half-listened to Ron and Lee Jordan's conversation about Quidditch and used the other half of his attention to try and concentrate on his schedule, which had changed dramatically with his introduction into fifth year.

"I wonder whom our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is," Hermione wondered out loud. Harry looked over at her, surprised he hadn't thought of it sooner. Usually, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was a major topic of conversation. So far, Harry had liked Professor Remus Lupin, who had been a very close friend of his late father, the best. But, because Lupin was a werewolf and werewolves were known to be less than trustworthy, he had resigned after the news leaked out.

Harry looked upward at the enchanted ceiling and saw the full moon. _I wonder where Lupin is now, he thought. Was he locked in a room, his mind completely surrendered to the rage of a fully transformed werewolf? Or had Professor Snape, the Potions teacher, sent Lupin off with a potion to keep his mind during a transformation, but not his body? He tore his eyes away from the moon and looked back down at his nearly empty plate. With a sigh, he pushed it away._

"Are you all right, Harry?" a voice asked. Harry looked up and saw Ginny Weasley looking at him with concern in her eyes.

"No," he said quickly. "I… er… I'm just not feeling well."

"Oh. All right then," Ginny said, not pressing the issue. Harry silently thanked her and began to wonder… _Who is __the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?_

*** * ***

Harry whistled softly to himself as he roamed the empty halls of Hogwarts Castle.Ron had retired earlier, complaining of a headache and Hermione had followed, wanting to get a head start on the "loads of homework" that she suspected they'd get that week.How she could get a head start was beyond Harry, but there was no doubt in his mind that Hermione was headed for the library to try anyway.Harry was privately grateful for the time alone.

In his first year, he'd run across the Mirror of Erised, a magical looking glass that had shown what the viewer wanted most in the whole world.In Harry's case, it was his smiling form surrounded by his entire family.Since then, he'd kept an eye out for the mirror, with no luck.With extra time on his hands, he could not only watch for the mirror, but also just enjoy the feeling of being in the magical world away from the Dursleys.

Harry lifted his head as he turned a corner and ran smack into Professor Dumbledore, Hogwarts headmaster.

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said, fixing his glasses and rubbing his nose tenderly.

"Oh, Harry, just the person I wanted to 'bump into.'"Dumbledore smiled at his own pun."I would like to discuss a private matter with you.If you'd follow me to my office…" Harry nodded and Dumbledore swept forward, leading him through the grand Hogwarts hallways.

Soon, they came upon a large statue of a gargoyle and Dumbledore stopped in front of it.

"Jekyll," he said by way of a password.The gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside to admit the two wizards forth.Dumbledore bowed and allowed Harry to enter before him.Smiling, Harry bounded ahead; Dumbledore's office was by far Harry's favorite room in the entire castle.He pressed forward and opened the large oak door leading into the office.

The circular room was identical to the way Harry remembered it, minus shifted furniture here and there.Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, was sleeping with his head tucked under his right wing in the cage on Dumbledore's desk.His beautiful gold and red plumage rose and fell with each soft breath from the sleeping bird.

Dumbledore sat down behind his desk and nodded for Harry to sit in the red chair.

"It has come to my attention, Harry, that you left your aunt and uncle a bit… prematurely," Dumbledore began, folding his hands together and fixing his twinkling blue eyes on Harry, who squirmed uncomfortably in his seat."I have been in contact with Arabella Figg, who's told me everything.There's no need to hide what happened."Harry let out a breath of relief.

"They weren't going to let me go visit Ron, Professor," Harry said."They weren't even going to let me get my Hogwarts things."

"I've also been in contact with your aunt and uncle, Harry.As you can well imagine, they're a bit upset."Harry snorted and felt like giving Dumbledore the Understatement of the Year Award."I feel that it is necessary, in your own best interest, for you to stay in the wizarding world during the summer holidays."

Harry's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened."I'll never have to see them again, then?" Harry asked slowly, not daring to believe what was happening.

"Well, don't sound _too_ upset," Dumbledore said, hiding a smile."There is quite some time between now and then, and I'm sure we can find a suitable place for you to—" 

"Headmaster?"Harry turned to see his Charms teacher, Professor Flitwick, standing in the doorway.The tiny man, who hardly came up to Harry's elbow, was looking enthused.

"Yes?" Dumbledore said, standing so he could see Professor Flitwick over the edge of his desk.

"The Knight Bus has been found," Professor Flitwick squeaked."It's at the bottom of the lake."

*** * ***

"She's a Malfoy, Harry."

"Come again?" Harry's head snapped up and he looked at Ron who was packing something deep into his trunk.Harry went back to polishing his Firebolt furiously as he sat at the edge of his bed.Ron pulled his head out of his trunk and looked up at his best friend.

"Don't be a git," he said. "You know what I'm talking about. I saw you looking at her when she was being sorted. She's a Malfoy, Harry. A Slytherin. Rumor is going around that she's Draco's fraternal twin. Twin, Harry! How different can two twins possibly be?" Harry took the question as rhetorical and didn't interrupt him. "She used to be taught at home by her mother or something.Maybe she didn't even get invited to Hogwarts." He let out a short laugh and Harry glared at him. 

"Well, then why is she here now?" Harry asked defensively. 

"She could have been a Late Bloomer, you know.Oh… you probably don't know."Ron's ears turned a little pink."It's when a witch or a wizard doesn't show any sign of magical powers until they're older.Maybe Anya was a Late Bloomer."Harry couldn't argue with this (He hadn't even known about it until that moment.) and went back to polishing his perfectly smooth Firebolt.

"Anyway," Ron continued, struggling to pull something out of his trunk, "Parvati Patil said that her hair used to be really light like Malfoy's, but now it's brown because of a chocolate spell gone wrong." He sniggered and Harry frowned again.

"Well, who cares about some slimy old Slytherin anyway?" Ron shrugged as the desired item came loose and he fell backwards with a thud."Oof!"

"She's not… slimy!She's actually very nice.She helped me pick up my things when I dropped them in Diagon Alley."

"You hardly know her!"

"You're absolutely right.I don't know her and I'm not going to judge her until I do.Now let's change the subject before we get into an argument.By the way, have you made up with Hermione?"

Ron's eyebrows shot up."Made up?Why?What did I do to her?" he asked a bit frantically.Harry shrugged.

"It seems as if the two of you are always in a row over something," he replied.Ron was now rubbing his forehead, trying to remember.

"I don't _think_ so…" Rob began as another one of their roommates, Neville Longbottom, entered the room, lugging his large trunk behind him. After listening to about five full minutes of his grunting and straining, Harry pulled his wand out of his robes.

"_Accio!" Harry said, pointing the wand towards the trunk. He guided it to the foot of Neville's bed, where it settled softly._

"Thank you," Neville panted gratefully."Wow, did you two see all of the commotion out around the lake?Seamus Finnigan reckons the giant squid _died_ or something.Wouldn't that be horrible?"Before waiting for an answer, Neville bounded out and raced down into the Gryffindor common room to join the other Gryffindors.

"The giant squid?Dead?Mum would be heartbroken," Ron said."That's how she met my dad.He saved her from the giant squid.Of course, the poor creature was just trying to return mum to shore…" he broke off with a laugh.Harry momentarily wondered if his own father had ever saved his mother's life like that.

"It's the Knight Bus," Harry heard himself say."I was in Dumbledore's office when Professor Flitwick came in."

"Wow… was that when you found out about not going to the Dursleys?"Harry nodded, remembering the looks on Ron's and Hermione's faces when he rushed into the common room to tell them."That's mighty strange, Harry.What would the Knight Bus be doing in the lake?Who would've put it there?"His voice dropped to almost a whisper."Would Sirius think it was funny?Madam Rosmerta did say…"

"No way, Ron.How could he have done it?And why?"Harry shook his head absently."Why would anyone do something that… odd?"

"Hogwarts is hard to get into without permission… and an entire bus along with you?Perhaps the person wanted to show how powerful they were becoming," Ron murmured.His eyes slowly went wide."You don't think…"

"You-Know-Who?Steal the Knight Bus and put it in the lake?Surely there are more conspicuous things he could do."

"There are… but he's… Oh, I don't even want to think about it.And don't call me Shirley."Harry looked at him strangely, before Ron explained, "Muggle movie.Dad is mad for them.Forget about it.What do you say we go down into the common room and see if your chess skills have improved over the summer holidays?"

"Not likely," Harry smiled with a nod and began to follow his friend.

"Try to forget about Anya, too, all right, Harry? This is our fifth year! We're going to be bogged down with so much ruddy homework… plus your Quidditch practice!" Ron clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. By this time tomorrow, you'll have forgotten all about her."

*** * ***

Two days, fourteen hours and twelve minutes later, Harry Potter still hadn't forgotten about Anya Malfoy. She was in two of his classes: Potions, and Magical Music. The last subject centered on spells and curses dealing especially with music and notes. Luckily, Draco, who seemed to want to keep his sister away from most Gryffindors, had only Potions with him and Harry felt free to speak to Anya in Magical Music. That is, if he could work up the nerve.

One particularly cold Wednesday, Hermione and Ron were absorbed in an argument. Hermione thought the note scale for the Immobility Piece was A, D, D, C sharp, F, while Ron argued it was D, A, A, C sharp, F. Harry knew Hermione was right, but Ron wouldn't back down. Finally, much to Hermione's initial amusement, Ron stared at her defiantly and played the notes on the flute they had been given to use. Nothing happened, at first. Then Hermione slowly began to shrink. The class could hardly hold in their laughter and the tiny Hermione shrieked for Professor Sibtia to reverse the spell.

Concerned as they were, Ron and Harry could hardly contain their own laughter, which faded as Hermione turned back to her original size. She glared at Ron and went back to her notes. While Ron attempted to make up with Hermione, Harry continued to try (and fail) with the Immobility Piece with the small toad they had been given to practice on.

"Miss Malfoy, please help Mr. Potter," Professor Sibtia said dismissively, waving a hand over her shoulder as she tried to aid Neville Longbottom, who has somehow turned his toad into a canary.

"What's the problem?" Anya asked, stepping to Harry's side.

"Er...I... um… I can't get the toad to stop... er...moving," he stammered.He was never good with meeting new people.

"Try it again," she urged. "Maybe you're doing something wrong." Harry was surprised he didn't drop his flute as he played the notes.The most experience he'd ever had with a musical instrument was being hit in the head by Dudley's Play Time Sing-A-Long guitar when he was eight.

He finished the measure and the toad croaked happily at him and jumped into a solution of Hair Grower that Professor Sibtia had on her desk for their next lesson. Groaning, Harry plucked the happy toad out of the flask. Not only was his toad still moving about, but also it was hairy

"This is ridiculous," Harry muttered as he tried to hold the frog down with one hand.

"You're playing a C natural instead of a C sharp." Anya explained as she positioned his fingers over the C sharp. "Try it one more time." Harry did so and grinned broadly as the toad stopped moving mid-croak.

"Thank you," Harry smiled. Anya smiled and turned to leave, but Harry called out, "Anya Malfoy, isn't it?" Anya turned and looked at him."Your name, I mean."She nodded.

"Yes, that's me.There probably isn't any need for me to ask who you are, is there?" she asked, her eyes flicking upwards to the scar on his forehead.

"My brother hasn't taken much of a liking to you, has he?" she said, hiding a smile behind her hand.Harry looked at her as though she was crazy.

"No, I... I guess not." He managed a small smile, puzzled that she wasn't going to look at him coldly or turn him into a cow.

"That's all right," she said quietly. "I think people should know each other before they judge." She looked at her feet and then met his green eyes with her own.

"Yes," Harry said, finding his breath.

"Could you do me a favor?" Anya asked rather sheepishly. Harry said he would. After all, she had helped him with his assignment. "Teach me how to play Quidditch!" Her eyes sparkled in the dim lighting. "Draco never would and Father says it should only be for boys...Mother goes along with Father. They wouldn't have to know, Harry. And I won't tell anyone. I promise."

"Er...of course. Meet me out there after your last class. You have a broomstick, right?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand and One," she answered. "Draco got the new Firebolt so he gave me his old one." Harry groaned inwardly. He liked being the only Hogwarts Quidditch team member with the Firebolt, the newest and fastest broomstick on the market. "Thank you, Harry Potter!" As he watched her return to her workstation, he was sure he was blushing.

*** * ***

Harry hurriedly stuffed a sheet of parchment into his Divination II book, _Clearing the Chaos: A Guide for the Inner Eye by Belisa Tewill. Hermione, never one to miss a rude comment about Divination, often suggested that it was their instructor, Professor Sybill Trelawney, writing under a pen name._

In any case, Harry was on his way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, anxious to find out who their new teacher was. The job seemed cursed, as their first year teacher, Professor Quirrell, had been working with Lord Voldemort, their second year teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, had been an arrogant wizard who later lost his memory, their third year teacher, Professor Remus Lupin, had resigned and their fourth year teacher, Professor Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, had really been a Death Eater in disguise.

Harry skidded to a halt outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts room and reached out to open it. Suddenly, a sharp pain laced through across his forehead. Dropping his books, he clapped both hands over his forehead and sank to his knees. He clamped his mouth shut so as not to cry out. Yet as soon as the pain had come, it was gone and Harry shifted onto one knee, breathing heavily.

"Are you all right?" a quiet voice said from above him. Harry felt his heart nearly stop. Someone had seen him. He looked up slowly, dreading whom it was. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or embarrassed that it was Anya. "Harry, are you okay?"

"I... I..." he stammered. "Yes, I'm fine; my... I'm just not feeling well." Harry decided to stick with that cover so he wouldn't have to remember what he'd told to each person. She nodded, not believing him, but not wanting to challenge him on it, and crouched down, helping him pick up his things.

"Here," she said, handing him a quill and blushing. "I'll see you later." After Harry mustered a "goodbye," she smiled at him and started down the hall. Harry shook his head and opened the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room and gasped.

"Professor Lupin?!" Harry gasped, eyes as wide as saucers. It had to be some sort of mistake... or trick. It was the day after the full moon; the day when Lupin was supposed to be recovering from his werewolf transformation.

"I'm pleased to see you as well, Harry," Lupin smiled. "Please take your seat. I would like to speak to you after class." At that point, other students began to flow in and Harry sat, stunned. Soon, Hermione and Ron joined him, one on each side. Professor Lupin was back? Impossible.

"It's nice to be back and see so many familiar faces," Lupin said, smiling a bit at the class. "I daresay you've had quite an... 'adventure' while I've been away." There was a nervous wave of giggles, as they'd always thought Professor Moody was a bit on the odd side. "Well, I'm afraid I must regress into the mundane practice of regular teaching."

"This class was never boring when you were around, Professor!" Seamus Finnigan piped up. There was a murmur of approval, but just the same, there was still tension and nervousness in the room. People were glancing at each other and then to Lupin. Harry was wondering why everyone seemed so on edge when Lupin interrupted his thoughts.

"I suppose you're all wondering if the rumors about me being a werewolf are true," Lupin said dramatically, sitting on the edge of his desk. "They are." There was a collective gasp as Neville Longbottom and several others sitting in the front row shrank backward in their desks. "However, a cure has been developed by a very bright young man who is studying dragons in Romania. There seems to be a thirteenth use for dragon's blood: It is able to take the information - the DNA structure itself - that my body used for the werewolf transformation and exchanged it with my own DNA. So, in essence, I simply changed into myself again." There was a relieved sigh. Harry ran a hand to his always-untidy hair and slid his glasses back up his nose. So that was it. No tricks, no mistakes. Simply... a cure. "You see, however, this is still quite a secret to the main wizarding world, but I was their guinea pig, so to speak.I can trust you all to keep my secret?"The class nodded and Harry turned to see Ron's reaction, but only saw him slouched down in his desk tracing circles on a piece of parchment with a quill, ears bright red. Before Harry was able to ask what was wrong, Lupin cleared his throat.Harry looked past Ron to Hermione, who looked positively giddy with the newfound information.

"This year, we will move into a particularly difficult course schedule. We will however, begin easy, with shape-shifters. There is a very likely chance we will be working with Professor McGonagall to aid us in distinguishing a shape-shifter from a simple transfigured form." Harry heard Hermione make a noise and turned to see her looking like she'd just smelled one of the Weasley twins' Dungbombs. He narrowed his eyebrows in question at her and she whispered to him.

"The Slytherins have Transfiguration this hour," Hermione said. Ron couldn't resist rolling his eyes, a clear indication at the annoyance that Hermione knew _everything._

Raising his voice, Lupin continued, "However, today will be a simple review. I'm not sure what Professor Moody taught you, so we'll review a few of the magical creatures this class learned in third year. Now, who can tell me what is most fatal to a boggart?"

The rest of the period went by quickly, most of it full of reviewing boggarts, hinkypunks, Red Caps and grindylows. The class listened attentively to incredible tales of run-ins with Red Caps and situations with slinkerpiffs, small otter-like animals with tongues that darted out like snakes. Due to its relation to the basilisk, also known as the King of Serpents, the story seemed all the more fascinating.

Time flew by and class ended. Grudgingly, the class departed from the room, Harry telling Hermione and Ron that he'd see them after seeing Lupin and that there was something else for him to tell them. Through the past four years, Hermione and Ron had confided everything in Harry and it was only fair for him to do likewise. His scar had hurt him - something that only happened when Voldemort was feeling particularly murderous towards Harry or if Voldemort was near.Harry quickly gathered his things and hurried to the front of the room.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming back?" Harry asked as he reached the desk. Lupin smiled up at him.

"I thought it might be a nice surprise," he said. Harry smiled back and noticed that Lupin was looking at him strangely.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"You remind me so much of your father. I suppose you hear that all the time." Harry nodded, urging Lupin to continue. He loved hearing about his father. "He was a great wizard, you know." Harry swallowed hard. 

"Yeah, I know," he whispered. No crying. Fingernails into fists. No tears.

"Well, you'd better get going," Lupin began brightly. "You don't want to keep her waiting."

"Her?" Harry said. "Oh, Anya... yeah, I sh- Wait, how did you know?" Lupin chuckled before explaining. 

"I was passing your Magical Music room when you made your date."

"It's not a date," Harry sputtered indignantly. "She wants me to teach her how to play Quidditch." Lupin continued to smile, amused.

"I remember another young Potter getting quite a bit flustered when talking about a certain Lily..."

"This is _different," Harry insisted. He couldn't help smiling back, though._

"I'll see you at our next class, Harry.I have to go myself, as I have some business to discuss with my friend, Gandalf.Go on and enjoy the sunshine."

*** * ***

"Oh, no! Harry... Harry! Oh... I'm going to fall!"

"Calm down, Anya. We're only a few feet above the ground. I'm not going to let you fall." Never before in his life had Harry seen someone so frightened of leaving the ground. He privately had flashes of Neville Longbottom in his mind and felt guilty when Anya looked at him, terrified. "Haven't you ever flown on a broomstick before?" he asked. Anya shook her head, flushing.

"Mother never taught me to ride a broom," she said looking away from him, ashamed. "Father says it's supposed to come naturally and you're just supposed to _know.I'm not really good at much anything."_

"Not true," Harry said, shaking his head. "No one else could get their toads to stop moving in Magical Music. People do better in different things," he shrugged. "Perhaps broomstick riding isn't your best subject." They both had a laugh over this. The day Anya was able to fly a broomstick well enough to play Quidditch would be the day Professor Snape, the Potions master who loathed Harry, decided to award Gryffindor fifty points toward the Inter-House Competition.Anya clung to Harry's robes as Harry lowered both of them to the ground. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

"Yes...I think so." She brushed her hair out of her eyes. "One more go?" Harry sighed and Anya said quickly, "You don't have to stay with me or anything. You've done more than enough already."

"No, that's all right. I'm having fun. Never...er...quite seen someone fly that way." They both had another laugh and Anya stood next to her broom.

"Up," she commanded. For the first time, the broom leaped right into her hand and she grinned. 

"I believe you're getting the hang of this." Anya mounted the broom and was soon soaring upward. Fast. Too fast. "Anya!" he called as she rose higher and higher. Quickly, Harry mounted his broom and soared upward after. Although Anya's Nimbus Two Thousand and One was zooming upwards, it was no match for Harry's Firebolt. He quickly caught up with her and saw her clutching the broom, frozen with fear.

"I...I don't know what I did," she stammered. "It just started to...to go and I...I..."

"It's okay, Anya," Harry assured her. "Just try to calm down. Then descend. It won't work if you're upset." Harry wasn't sure if this was true or not, but he decided the last thing he needed was someone to be hysterical a hundred meters in the air. As Anya nodded and closed her eyes, Harry had a feeling she was picturing herself on the safe ground. "All right. Now descend." He kept his eyes on her as the two of them descended in unison. Her eyes, however, remained tightly closed until they were about twenty meters above the ground. Then, they snapped open and her broom stopped descending. "It's okay. We're almost there. You were doing great," Harry assured her.

"No, that's not it," she said quietly. "I'd like to thank you for doing this and all I did for you was play a few musical notes..." 

"Really, it's all right. I don't have much homework and I'd be rather bored in the common room right about now. Well, unless Fred and George had their Canary Creams being passed out."

Anya smiled. "Those two certainly are fun, aren't they?"

"Yeah, the Weasleys are wonderful. Like a second family." At the word "family," Harry could have sworn he saw Anya flinch but as soon as his mind registered it, he wasn't quite so sure.

"That's great," she said. "I really appreciate what you're doing for me." Harry's throat tightened as he looked into her eyes.

"Draco would have just laughed if he knew I couldn't ride a broomstick. Mother and Father all but pretend I don't belong to the family." It was amazing how much the Malfoys resembled the Dursleys, as much as the two families were different. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but he was afraid his voice would squeak so he closed it. Anya was much closer to him now, he noticed. He looked directly into her eyes and, for some reason, he couldn't help leaning towards her.

"'What do yeh think yer doin' up there?!" a voice bellowed from beneath them. They quickly separated and looked down to see who had called. Harry grinned broadly as he saw Rubeus Hagrid, groundskeeper at Hogwarts and Care of Magical Creatures teacher, standing beneath him. Twice the size of a normal man, he almost looked regular-sized from twenty meters in the air. "Oh, 'Arry, it's you!" Temporarily forgetting Anya, Harry zoomed down to meet Hagrid. Before he could say anything, Hagrid wrapped his huge arms around Harry's middle, squeezing the air out of him.

"Good to see you, too, Hagrid," Harry gasped.

"Who's yer li'l friend?" Hagrid asked, black eyes twinkling. Anya popped back into Harry's mind and he flew back up and descended with her before answering Hagrid. "And a lov'ly lady she be," the half-giant said, taking his hand in hers and nodding politely. After releasing Anya's hand, Harry replied.

"This is Anya. She's new." After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Hagrid invited the two into his hut for tea. They politely went inside for a quick cup of tea, as it was getting a little dark outside. They sat down and Anya seemed to shrink each time Hagrid came near her. She almost fainted at the sight of Fang, Hagrid's boarhound. Fang, however, seemed to like Anya, and spent most of his time sniffing her ankles.

Hagrid began to make tea and Anya did something that surprised Harry - she offered to help. Not that he didn't think she was the type of person to help someone else in need (Magical Music had proven that.), but the fact remained that she had sat and trembled, overcome with her first impression of Hagrid and then of Fang. A little puzzled, Hagrid agreed and sat next to Harry at the table and Anya made the tea.

"S'bin a long summer wit'out yeh, Harry," Hagrid said. "But it's good ter see yeh back here at 'Ogwarts. Anythin' excitin' goin' on yet?"

"Nothing really. It's only been a few days and I can already tell we're going to have loads of homework." Harry sneaked a peek at Anya, who was nervously pouring the tea. She looked over her shoulder and mustered a smile at Harry. Anya came to the table with the teacups on a tray. Trying to help, Hagrid turned and accidentally sent the teacups crashing to the floor with his large, clumsy elbow.

"Oh, no!" Anya cried. "Hagrid, I'm so sorry. I broke your teacups. Oh, I'm so sorry."

"S'all righ'," Hagrid assured her. "I got plenty more where them came from." Anya began to pick up the pieces, murmuring about how sorry she was. After cleaning up, Harry quickly told Hagrid that they had to get back to the castle as Harry had Quidditch practice soon. They bid their good-byes, Anya still apologizing profusely, and they headed towards the castle. For a while, it was silent as they walked back, broomsticks in hand.

"I suppose Hagrid doesn't like me much," Anya said. "I broke his tea cups."

"It's all right, Anya," Harry said. "I was actually worried you were going to cut yourself on the shards..." With this, his face rivaled Ron's hair color and he looked away from her. Silence once again took over as a light drizzle began. "Oh, no." Water soon dripped over Harry's glasses and, no matter how many times he dried them, they would still show everything blurry. Anya took the glasses out of his hand without asking.

"_Impervius," she muttered as she tapped Harry's glasses with her wand, which she slipped out of her sleeve. Harry slid the glasses back on. "A water repelling charm," she said. Harry knew this; Hermione had performed it once during a Quidditch match._

They reached the castle and Harry sensed it was time to part ways to their separate common rooms.

"Thank you, Harry," Anya said. "For everything." With that, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek lightly. She gave him a shy smile and a little wave, and then headed off, presumably to her common room.

"_She's a Malfoy," Ron's voice echoed in his ears. "__A Slytherin... Draco's twin." Then, louder, "__Our Potter has fallen in love."Love?What nonsense._

**To be continued…**

** **

**Author's Notes:As always, my thanks go to my betas: [Selphie Leonhart][4], [Susie Q][5], [Ms. J. Average][6], [Krystyn Poe][7], [poosh][8] and [Lady Christina][9].Yes, SIX. Eh, they take shifts… don't think I work them all to the bone, all the time.I'm not ****that mean.::cackles::Ahem.Without them, I would have a mess of words strung together with bleak verbs.Ick.I need 'em.BAD.And by the way, I ****know this seems like the clichéd "Potter falls in love with Death Eater's daughter/Voldemort's daughter/Snape's daughter/Malfoy's sister," but as you well know, things are **never** what they appear to be at first glance. **

Thought of the day (appeared in a _Quick Takes _column, written by Zay N. Smith in the _Chicago Sun-Times):_

**WATCH THAT RICOCHET**

R.H., a Willow Springs reader, writes:

"_I am really tired of your remarks about the NRA and gun control every time there is an accidental death.Yes, there shouldn't be any deaths from children getting their hands on weapons.But in the United States, well over 40,000 women, children and men die in alcohol-related accidents each year…_"

You are right. 

In fact, you may be on to something.

All we have to do is treat guns exactly as we treat automobiles: registration, special insurance, users tests, users licenses, minimum age.

Thank you for your suggestion.

~*~*JanaBelle*~*~

To Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived!

Who thinks beta readers are right up there with oxygen

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=86033
   [2]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=97888
   [3]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=126853
   [4]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=directory-authorProfile&userid=10361
   [5]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=directory-authorProfile&userid=10607
   [6]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=directory-authorProfile&userid=10125
   [7]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=directory-authorProfile&userid=18332
   [8]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=directory-authorProfile&userid=7677
   [9]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=directory-authorProfile&userid=12595



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